My Trigger
by Exangeline
Summary: JD's life is turned upside-down by the Collective, a mysterious group hell-bent on killing him for something he has yet to do. Enter Jack and Perry Cox, arriving from a dystopian future to even the odds and save his life—but at what cost? AU.
1. — PREFACE —

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, except an overactive imagination and a fondness for angst, slash and men in lab coats. This story was based off nothing, equals nothing and is probably a waste of your time to read. But aw hell, I'm going to post it anyway. I like the way it flows. Lyrics are owned by their respective artists, and are credited underneath the A/N.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **This was originally going to be a preface to a much larger, multi-chapter story exploring a new edge to the JDA theme that seems to be sweeping the Scrubs scene. I wanted something that was a little less conventional and a little more Science Fiction. A little more futuristic, maybe? _My Trigger_ was born, but the end was so neatly summed up—even though it revealed virtually nothing—that I wanted to leave it as a one-shot. At least, for now, while I'm still in the brainstorming the idea of actually writing a longer, more detailed and, admittedly, more confusing fanfiction. If you read this and you like it, tell me what you think. Should I continue?

Lyrics by _Cruxshadows._

* * *

**MY TRIGGER**

_So bury fear, for fate draws near__,  
And hide the signs of pain.  
With noble acts, the bravest souls  
Endure the heart's remains._

His hands shook. His heart was pounding in his chest; his body was covered in sweat. The entire world faded in and out of focus in front of his eyes, a sure sign that the virus was spreading, manipulating his sight. He frowned at this knowledge, the first real tendrils of fear creeping up on him then. Of course he was scared, who wouldn't be? But it was all alright, in the end—he had been assured there was a cure, a way . . .

But if it saved everyone else destined to die from the same damn disease, then he'd gladly go in their place.

For this was what it was about, wasn't it? Sacrifice? It was what it had always been about. Everyone played their part; everyone made a sacrifice . . . all for the hope that the world would become a better place if they did.

His mind flitted over the few that had sacrificed the most and he shuddered—not from the virus, but from the knowledge that they risked everything that they ever had to come back and save him. They risked the safety of their families, of their future careers, of the world order, even. But most of all, they risked their own lives and undoing everything they had achieved since this moment in time.

Jack had explained it, somehow. Something to do with alternate realities, personalities and universes. He remembered his thoughts being filled with amazement, for it was so hard to believe how much Jack had grown in twelve years—from a tiny child sitting at the crook of his mother's arm, laughing and giggling with only a basic grasp of English to this . . . this _adolescent prodigy_, for that was surely the only word to describe someone so smart.

_Jack Cox__,_ he breathed. _Wow._

The part he was having the hardest time wrapping his head around would probably be that—that it was Jack who had volunteered to come back. It was Jack who was risking it all to save him.

_Him—_someone on the verge of death who should have, for all intents and purposes, died a long time ago. He once asked him how he could do it—risk everything for one person—and Jack had smiled and said: "Our future isn't worth living if you're not there." The gratitude that swelled in his chest at that moment was enough to take away the fear, the pain, all of it . . . but not quite. The seizures still took him, and his hands still shook.

Yet another thing in life that was out of his control.

When he asked Perry about what those words meant—_"Our future isn't worth living if you're not there"—_the older Cox would simply smile at him. Not grin, or smirk, but smile. It was only a small smile, full of sadness, but it was the most beautiful expression he had ever seen flit across the older man's face. Neither Jack nor Perry would talk about it, other than to mention equally as cryptic statements, and he knew what it was all about, he really did. It was the whole less-you-know-the-better thing, but he couldn't help but be curious. So he asked and asked and asked until he finally got a plausible answer.

In hindsight, he was certain it wasn't worth it. All that work, just to know something that would chill him to the bone every single time he thought about it.

Still, he would hear them again and again if it meant preserving what they all held so dear.

It had been a simple question, said with cheek, yet with the underlying curiosity they had noticed in him from the very beginning. He was sly, as he spoke: "What's the future like without me, huh?" The two of them shared a glance, something only father and son could identify with, and turned back to him. It was Perry who spoke—Perry who said those five, damning words.

"It's gone to hell, JD."

He remembered, in that moment, turning his eyes back to Perry and Jack and seeing, probably for the first time, what sort of a toll that this had all taken on them. Jack looked nervous, subdued, but so ready. Perry looked so old and so tired, but so knowledgeable. There were new lines that framed his eyes, and others that formed what looked to be a permanent frown across his mouth.

For some reason, those lines always reminded him of the first time he had seen the curly-headed doctor use his gun. It was almost an outrage, seeing it for the first time, for they had spent there entire careers trying to help people, not to kill them. But in that moment, when those words were spoken, he saw the memory in an entirely new light—Perry wasn't a doctor when he wielded that gun, but he certainly was no murderer, either.

He was a father, a concerned citizen . . .

_A protector._

And it was then that he knew he'd do anything it took to help them. _Anything._ Even if he sacrificed his own life, in the process.

For that was all it was about, wasn't it? Sacrifice, family . . .

_Love._

Despite himself—despite the situation, the sorrow and the anger—JD smiled. Because it would be all alright, in the end . . .

Of course, that's when everything went to hell.

_And in the fury of this darkest hour__,  
We will be your light—  
You've asked me for my sacrifice,__  
And I am winter born._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II:** I found the Winterborn lyrics by complete and total luck, even though I have the song on my iPod and actually really enjoy the Cruxshadows. It fits perfectly with the type of story I wanted to achieve—either as the one-shot, or as a multi-chapter story—and in the event that I do write more, will probably be the story's main theme. So . . . Like it? Hate it? Want more? Tell me.

_-- Exangeline._

* * *


	2. The Target

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot, because whenever I go into Sci-Fi, it always turns out a little Stargate-like. Lyrics are owned by the fantastic Coheed and Cambria, as this arc of the story is best suited to their fantastic words.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **My brain is screaming at me for this, as I'm notoriously known for having extreme writers block, being completely timid to write anything in fear that it's out of character, and almost never update. I've decided to continue on with this story despite what my brain says. The idea just pulled me in, I guess, although any and all plots I've developed pertain to the second half of the story, not the first, so production might be slow for a while. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I hope this installment does your kind words justice.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Fuel For the Feeding End _by Coheed and Cambria.

* * *

**PART I—_PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE._****  
**  
**CHAPTER I: THE TARGET**

_The better end of all to come—  
The truth be now here one by one,  
I am to you extend to none  
The memory that fuels the fire._

ONE WEEK EARLIER.

In his dream—a dream so realistic he could feel it in his bones—he was standing on the roof of a building placing him high above the city, eyes downcast as he observed the streets. People were scattered, moving like ants across concrete. They were so small from this height, so fragile. He, in comparison, felt like a giant, something he knew was all a trick of the mind. Still, he watched them from his pedestal, wondering if this was what God did day in day out.

_What a heinously boring job..._

The world shifted, somewhat. His peace was disturbed by a sudden ringing in his ears. He knew what it was—the name of the sound, it was on the tip of his tongue—but he couldn't for the life of him say it out loud. It started as a simple buzz, a dull throbbing. It was annoying, but bearable, until its frequency increased with its volume and it crashed against his ears. His mind reeled, his vision spun in a whirlwind of colors and his world tilted violently off axis.

The next thing he knew, he was falling—off the top of the skyscraper and into the proverbial ant-farm below. He fell fast, at freefall speed, and only had a brief few seconds to consider how hard he would fall before he did.

JD woke up with a scream, body covered with sweat and the sound of his alarm still pulsing in his ears.

He sat up slowly, riding out the dizzying aftershock of his dream, which had become no more than a faded memory. He blinked irritably for a few seconds as his vision returned to him and, once he got a sense of where he was, threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His vision swam for a moment before it righted itself and JD was able to walk briskly out of the room to glance blearily into the kitchen.

5:55AM.

Fifteen minutes later, JD was hopping out of his apartment, swinging the door shut behind him as he tried desperately to fit his foot in his shoe. "What ever happened to accurate alarm clocks?" He mumbled, though he was very well aware that it wasn't the alarm's fault, but his own. If he had woken up when it actually started to beep, then he wouldn't be late. It was the first time in a long time, too.

_I guess I'll just chalk it up to a bad day, then._

Of course, the moment he admitted it was a bad day, it simply got worse. He managed to get to the hospital unscathed, only to be berated by a ruffled Chief of Medicine, who not-so-politely informed him that they had a crisis on their hands. A multiple-car pile-up on the throughway meant that the hospital was being flooded with patients, making Sacred Heart under-staffed and more than a little overwhelmed. JD was all but forced into the locker room to get changed before he made the ultimate mistake of talking to Carla, who had apparently gotten on Doctor Cox's last nerve and was yelled at in front of the entire nursing staff. A stack load of patient's charts later, and JD felt not unlike a human yo-yo.

The only shining beacon of the first half of his day was that he had managed to avoid his mentor, something he had punctually decided was best for everyone. There was definitely something wrong with the older doctor if he yelled at Carla, of all people. She was probably the only one at the hospital Doctor Cox actually liked. _And me, of course, _JD thought with an amused smile, _even though he'd never admit it..._

But all good things had to come to an end, especially on a day like this.

"SHEILA!"

After intubating Mr. McGowan, JD found himself walking down the corridor to check up on one of his pneumonia patients, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the sound of his mentor's voice booming down the hall. He turned to see Doctor Cox stomping towards him, a look of pure murderous rage stretched over his face. JD gulped, wondering what he had possibly done to deserve such anger.

He found out a moment later, when Doctor Cox stood right in front of him before growling: "You've done the smart thing for the first time in your life, Gladys, and avoided me for the first half of the morning—which is definitely the best idea you have ever had, well, _ever_. And while I re-he-_heally_ enjoyed a morning without your constant jabbering, I am forced to place myself in your presence."

JD wasn't sure he was hearing right. "Wait, are you saying that you _need my help?_"

If looks could kill, JD was sure that the look Doctor Cox gave him at that moment wouldn't just be the death of him, but probably every living being in a five mile radius of him. His mentor fumed.

"No. No, Newbie, I am _not_ asking for your help. In case you didn't hear me before, I am being quite literally _forced_ to indulge in your girlish chatter about how that boy-band is just so _fab_—" The word was accompanied by a look of mock-awe that flitted across Doctor Cox's face before he finished his rant. "—Because the absolute devil of a man in room 308 refuses to answer any of my questions until he talks to _'Doctor Dorian.'_ Now you better come with me, Newbie, before I permanently redecorate this floor with your teeth." In the end, JD had no choice in the matter, as the last of Doctor Cox's words were followed by grabbing hold of the front of his scrubs shirt and pulling him back down the hall into room 308.

He found himself at the foot of a bed containing a rather handsome man in his mid-twenties. His hair was pitch-black and his eyes were a dull brown. They scanned JD's face, a recognition sparking deep within them as the man straightened. He was slim and pale, but muscular—definitely more buff than JD could ever get—and there was something about him that screamed danger, although he couldn't pinpoint what. Of one thing JD was absolutely sure, though.

He had never met this man in his life.

The patient, however, had a different idea. His face formed a devilish smirk. "Doctor Dorian, so good to see you again."

The man's voice was like velvet and immediately supported JD's theory that this man was nothing but trouble. He grimaced. "I'm sorry. Am I supposed to know you?" From the corner of his eye, JD saw Doctor Cox's eyebrows rise. Instead of cocking his head towards the older doctor's as he usually would when identifying that look, JD kept his eyes on the man in front of him. A small voice in his head told him to retain eye contact at all costs.

Despite his better judgment, JD listened to it. He didn't move.

The man's smirk grew wider. "Of course you wouldn't remember." He said it like it was some sort of joke, as if the concept was amusing to him. It sent shivers down JD's spine. "My name is Daniel Knott." He stuck out a hand, which JD hesitantly took. He was just thinking about how strange it was that Doctor Cox was being so quiet—the man was, really, anything but—when the patient, Knott, wrapped an arm around his and pulled JD towards him ferociously.

JD was jolted into an awkward stance, his cheek pressed firmly against Knott's. He could hear the sound of the other man breathing in his ear, a feeling that chilled him to the bone. Something about this man was really starting to bother him. The cold, calculating look in his eyes and the threat within his smirk were the least of his problems against his strength. He had thrown JD towards him as if he were a rag doll.

His mind ceased any and all thought in the next second, however, when Knott whispered against him.

_"You've been targeted."_

JD froze at the three words that came out of the other man's mouth. Luckily, after that moment, reality seemed to kick in and JD was pulled clean out of Knott's grasp by an exasperated Doctor Cox, who was glaring daggers at the man in the bed. His mentor's voice was full of outrage as he regarded Knott. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yelled.

Without another word to the man in the bed, Cox pulled JD out of the room.

"You alright, Newbie?"

JD nodded, subdued. He knew that if he wasn't so shaken, he'd probably be grinning at the possessiveness in his mentor's actions. However, whenever his mind flitted across the idea that Doctor Cox was concerned for him, instead of feeling gleeful like he normally would, his mind replayed those damning three words in his head: _"You've been targeted." _He grimaced, head tilting to the side. What the hell did that mean, anyway?

The dark-haired doctor was knocked out of his thoughts by Doctor Cox's sudden exclamation: "Just what the hell were ya doing in there, Bethany? That man's a creep, if you didn't figure that out already. I don't care if you know him, or if you guys were BFFs in that beauty school you attended when you were eighteen, I'm not keeping you on as his resident!"

JD grimaced, feeling just a tiny bit unnerved at the tone of his mentor's voice. Despite his rant, JD knew he was serious, and for some reason that scared him more than their usual bickering did. So he replied, in all honesty, "I have no idea who he is, Doctor Cox, or how he knew my name. I've never met Daniel Knott in my life." He shuddered. "Nor did I want to."

His mentor just nodded at him, then broke eye-contact to crane his neck to the side and holler: "BARBIE!" He whistled towards the blonde receding down the hall, who stopped in her tracks.

Elliot came barreling towards them, looking as frazzled and neurotic as ever. She blew her bangs out of her face before asking, in a maddening rush of words, "Yes, Doctor Cox?"

Doctor Cox handed her Knott's chart. "Take care of this patient in 308." Elliot nodded and disappeared into the room. JD knew he should have felt bad for her, at that point, but he didn't. Instead, his mind stayed on those words.

_You've been targeted._

* * *

JD worked through the rest of the morning treating the other patients involved in the crash. Some of them had managed to escape relatively unscathed, like five-year-old Lisa Whitelaw. Her mother Diana, however, wasn't so lucky. Extreme trauma to the head had put her in a coma, and she had yet to wake up. Both Lisa and Diana were his patients, so JD was the one responsible for telling the small girl the news about her mother.

It had gone remarkably well. He sat down on the end of Lisa's bed, watching the small, blonde-haired girl watching him and said softly: "Your Mom's in a deep sleep because she hit her head, but we're doing the best we can to get her to wake up. You just have to be patient, okay?" The little girl had nodded with a small smile, pressing into the fluffy white pillows surrounding her head. JD had checked her monitors, waved to her goodbye, and left the room.

His mind, however, was still there. It lingered on the mother and daughter, sorrow stirring in the pit of his gut when he considered the situation. His sadness, however, was overshadowed by his immense guilt. Guilt, because he was really only thinking of them to stop himself from thinking of someone else—namely, Daniel Knott and the number he had pulled on him.

There was only so much guilt he could take before he exploded, so come noon, JD found a chair at the Cafeteria and settled in for the long haul.

_I don't understand any of this, _he thought as he took a bite of his tuna salad sandwich. _Even if I discredit the entire "You've been targeted" thing, there's still the fact that he knew my name when we clearly haven't met before..._

JD sat up straighter. _Or have we?_

He spent the next ten minutes of his break scanning his mind for any and all references to Daniel Knott, or even someone who looked similar to him. His search, however, came back negative. When he looked at that man with his dark hair and even darker eyes, he had seen nothing that brought on that tingling feeling that they had met before. There was no indication, no sign, no spark. He had honestly never seen Daniel Knott in his entire life.

_So how did he know who I was?_

Halfway through pondering the question, with theories branching from word of mouth to kryptonite, JD was interrupted by the sound of a tray hitting his table. He looked up from his musings to see a ruffled-looking Elliot, who just nodded at him before she took a large bite of her egg salad sandwich. He was about to plunge straight back into his train of thought—which had something to do with Janitor mind control—when he realized that Elliot was, second to Doctor Cox, the perfect person to talk to.

"How did it go with the patient in room 308?" JD asked, keeping his tone casual, though he was finding it hard to blanket his curiosity.

Elliot swallowed and cleared her throat before answering, with widened eyes, "That Knott guy is creepy."

JD nodded. "Isn't he ever..." He paused before asking his next question, not entirely sure if he should. "Did he say anything to you—out of the ordinary, I mean?"

Elliot shook her head.

"No," the blonde replied with ease, although she still looked a bit disturbed. "He just kept... staring at me."

JD raised an eyebrow, which clearly said: _Elaborate._

Elliot delivered. She fell into one of her rants. "Like, not in a checking-me-out way, which would still be really creepy, but at least a little flattering. He was looking at me as if he was in on some big secret, that he knew something I didn't. I mean, I know I'm not the shiniest knife in the shed, but I'm not completely oblivious." She fixated her eyes on him then—blue and bulbous. "I'm not, am I, JD?"

JD knew the appropriate response. He sighed, "No, Elliot. You're not."

She looked relieved. "Thank god. I was really starting to worry. Guess that means that he's just freaky, then."

"I guess," he replied, subdued.

Elliot looked up at his tone. "Is something wrong, JD?"

He shook his head.

"I'm fine. There's just someone I've got to talk to, is all."

And there was, which was how he found himself walking down the corridor to room 308. He was determined to ask Daniel Knott exactly how he knew his name and what the hell he meant by saying he had been targeted. After spending most of the day with his head in the clouds—more than usual, of course—and pondering this conundrum, he was going to get his answers.

Only he wasn't prepared for what he found when he walked into the room. At Knott's bedside was Carla, Doctor Cox and Nurse Roberts, all working on reviving him. Their hands were a flurry of movement as Cox prepared the defibrillator and called out the customary "CLEAR!" before thrusting the paddles down onto Daniel Knott's chest. The body arched upwards and everyone glanced up at the heart monitor—JD included—to see the result. No change. They paddles were charged again and after a second time, the heart monitor flat-lined and Knott's body fell motionless onto the bed. It was Doctor Cox who announced him.

"Time of death, 12:10."

JD walked into the room and towards the lifeless body, not sure what to think. The man might have been different, scary, but that didn't mean he deserved to die. Going over his charts, JD knew it was heart failure and as everyone cleared the room, he found himself pulling the sheet over Knott's head. There was nothing he could do for him now.

As he readied the body, JD's hand brushed against Knott's side. A shudder ran through him then and the patient's chart fell to the floor with a resounding _clack_. After a moment of simply staring at the body on the bed, JD dismissed the feeling as an involuntary reaction, picked up the chart and left the room. As he passed through the threshold of the door, he strengthened his resolve to let the issue go and walked down the corridor to visit Diana Whitelaw.

From underneath the sheet in room 308, a trickle of blood fell from Daniel Knott's closed eyes.

_Watching his tale with words he unfolds,  
__Conscious and cold we'd never know—  
__They scream as he laughs off the blood from his eyes,  
__The words will now learn of the dreams in his mind._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Just to clarify, the _One Week Earlier_ at the beginning of the chapter means that these events take place a week before the Preface, which is what the first installment of this story has now become. Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, and I really hope you won't be afraid to tell me what you think. All comments are appreciated, even those that are constructive or even negative in nature. Everyone has an opinion, and I'd love to hear yours.

-- _Exangeline._


	3. The Brother

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot, because whenever I go into Sci-Fi, it always turns out a little Stargate-like. Lyrics are owned by the fantastic Coheed and Cambria, as this arc of the story is best suited to their fantastic words.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Thanks for the feedback! Here's Chapter II in return for your kindness—wherein JD ponders life, friendship and mental instability while being accosted, throttled, tackled and berated by a variety of fruity characters. Also starring sweet!Carla, hyperactive!Turk, poor!Elliot, defensive!Janitor and vintage!Cox, with mentions of insane men and future bikers. Oh and somewhere amidst it all, the plot thickens. Like broth. Or some sort of semi-solid, souring liquid.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Fuel For the Feeding End_ by Coheed and Cambria.

* * *

**CHAPTER II: THE ****BROTHER**

___From start to finish, I've made you feel this  
Uncomfort in turn with the world you've learned—  
To love through this hate, to live with its weight,  
A burden discerned in the blood you taste..._

An hour after Daniel Knott was pronounced dead, JD found himself on the bottom floor of the hospital, rounding the corridor towards the front desk. Carla was running her shift there, and he had a bunch of prescriptions to hand in before checking on his patients. As he gave her the charts and they exchanged pleasantries, he caught Elliot talking to a dark-haired man in one corner of the waiting room, her hand placed reassuringly on his shoulder.

JD's curiosity got the better of him.

"Hey Carla," he asked the Latina nurse after a moment, "Who's Elliot talking to?"

Carla lifted her eyes from the terminal to glance at the couple speaking softly in the corner. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, "Beats me, Bambi." She handed him back the charts with a slight smile. "There you go, all done."

JD couldn't resist smiling in return at his best-friend's wife. "Thank you, Carla."

Just as he was about to leave, said best-friend rounded the corner in his trademark green scrubs, looking gleeful. He kissed Carla on the lips with a casual: "Hey baby!" before turning to JD.

Turk grinned at his best friend. "Hey, Vanilla Bear. Guess who just rocked Mr. Garson's gastric bypass?" JD's smile grew into a full-blown beam. When the medical assigned to Mr. Garson had decided to push for surgery with the man's consent, Turk had been over the moon about it, especially since he was the one written down to perform the procedure. However, once he read over his charts and discovered how frail the patient really was, Turk began to grow nervous. He'd talked to JD plenty about how the surgery, as part of his attempt to try and come out more with his feelings. To hear it had all gone well made JD truly happy for his friend. They rushed into an embrace and for a moment there, JD forgot all about the events of that morning.

JD felt oddly out of place as Turk began to talk to Carla about the procedure as an attempt to try and come out more with his feelings towards_ her_ as well. He was happy their marriage was going well, but he felt like he was intruding on their private moment if he stayed any longer. _Besides,_ he thought, _I should probably go check on my pneumonia patient._

He turned to walk away, disregarding the call of: "Hey! You're not supposed to go through there!" until someone tapped his shoulder. Turning back around to address the figure, he found himself standing face-to-face with the man that Elliot had been talking to before. In fact, he could have sworn it was her voice that had called out a moment ago. _Yeah,_ he thought, grimacing,_ it was, too..._

The man was in street clothes. _Obviously not a patient, then, _he considered. He seemed pleasant enough, looking JD straight in the eye with a friendly smile and an atmosphere about him that radiated sociability.

"Are you Doctor Dorian?"

JD smiled back. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"I'm Patrick," the man introduced, sticking out his hand. JD shook it without hesitation. "Daniel Knott was my brother. Did you know him?"

For a moment, JD froze, wondering if this man—Patrick—would pull the same number his brother had on him by yanking him forward and uttering cryptic messages. However, Patrick released JD's hand a moment later, letting his own fall to his side. The dark-haired doctor crumpled in relief. However, there was still the matter of answering the man's question.

He frowned. "I'm sorry. I only met your brother today." He paused, before adding. "I was switched off his service, but if you want to talk to his doctor, I can get her for you? In fact, you were talking to her a little while ago..."

JD trailed off as Patrick shook his head absently, his face adorning a worried frown. It contorted itself into a look of deep concentration a moment later, as if there was something that was disturbing him that he was trying to figure out. JD received his answer to the man's strange train of thought a moment later, when he spoke hurriedly.

"That doesn't make sense," Patrick began, "Daniel talked about you all the time. You are Doctor John Dorian, right?"

JD nodded, not sure where this was going, but feeling more than a little freaked out, a feeling that only intensified when Patrick's next words were spoken.

"He had a nickname for you, too." The man said, face still adorning that disturbed, far-off look. "He called you JD."

The young doctor froze at the sound of his nickname passing through the man's lips. He was hit with an onslaught of emotions—overpowering him, overwhelming him. _How the _hell_ did he know something like that?_

To Patrick, JD simply replied. "I'm sorry. You have the wrong person." He turned to leave, having nothing more to say to him.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!"

For the second time, JD found himself rooted to the spot by the exclamation. "Excuse me?"

Before he could do what he was about to do next, of which he really had no idea—would he walk away? Turn and confront him?—JD felt two large hands on his shoulders, which spun him around before promptly throwing him against the wall of the corridor leading to the center of the first floor. Shock passed through his system as he stared, wide-eyed, at the panting man in front of him.

Patrick's eyes were wide, full of rage. He growled. "You are Doctor John Dorian. You knew my brother. YOU KNEW HIM!"

In the background, JD could hear a variety of things happening—people were standing, awestruck as they watched the scene play out before them, while Carla had picked up the phone and was dialing security and someone was behind Patrick, trying to pry him from JD to no avail. These things were overshadowed, however, by the absolutely carnal look in Patrick Knott's eyes. _It's not just Daniel who was creepy, then, _the part of JD's head not freaking out about this stated. _His entire family is nuts..._

The rest of JD's mind couldn't help but agree.

Patrick, hearing nothing of what was occurring around them, continued to scream at JD. "He talked about you _all the time!_ Like an old friend! My brother was no liar, which means you are. WHY ARE YOU _LYING_?"

The brown-haired man's hands, which had previously been resting on JD's shoulders in a grip that would give a vice a run for its money, had since then secured an equally as tight grip around his neck. JD spluttered, fingers clawing at the hands around his neck as the man strangling him continued to accuse him of lying, of insulting his brother's memory by implying he was wrong.

And then, as soon as it had started, it was all over. The hands from around JD's neck loosened, then disappeared altogether as Patrick Knott was thrown off him by—

"Janitor?!" JD wheezed, watching as the jumpsuit-clad maintenance man threw Patrick towards two burly security guards that appeared at the main entrance right then. Instead of taking his position in throttling him like JD thought he would, the Janitor simply nodded curtly in his direction before walking off, mop in hand while muttering something that sounded like: "Nobody chokes Scooter but me."

JD didn't have time to ponder the Janitor's odd behavior as he was surrounded by his friends to watch Patrick Knott being escorted, kicking and screaming, out of the hospital. Carla immediately began mothering him, only to be replaced by Turk, who jabbered on about how insane that was, only to be replaced by Elliot, who hugged him tightly while letting out a string of high-pitched expletives as she apologized over and over again for not being able to stop Patrick in the first place.

She, of course, was replaced by Doctor Cox, who fell into the roll of doctor quite quickly as he observed the strangulation marks on JD's neck. His mentor then slipped back into the emotionally-crippled narcissist that Sacred Heart knew and loved (or, well, not so much) by asserting: "Well, Glenda, you managed to survive this one. Now, as much as you like it rough from your little boy-toys, strangulation is so no-_hot_ the way to go. I don't know if that guy was just too sick of the constant stream of girlish crap you sent his way, or just generally disliked you, but give it a minute longer, and we would have had a dead Newbie."

As Doctor Cox ranted about the ethical dilemma between being a doctor who generally doesn't like seeing people die, but was willing to make an exception due to how a 'dead Newbie' equaled a 'quiet Newbie', JD contemplated the oddity that was the Knott family. _What are the odds,_ he thought, glumly, _that I'd be harassed by not one of them, but two?_ He was afraid that the incident hadn't clarified anything for him. Instead, it just left him a hell of a lot more disturbed than before...

And with a hell of a lot more questions, too.

* * *

JD spent the remainder of his shift on alert, waiting for more random members of the Knott family to come flying in and attack him. In his minds eye, he saw the quick fantasy of many dark-haired Daniel and Patrick Knott's falling from the sky in parachutes, clad in ninja gear, which soon turned into a lets-beat-up-JD fest. He shuddered, returning from the vision with the exclamation: "I will never perform your flying-monkey, crouching-tiger Kata's!"

Turk promptly patted him on the back. "Knott-family ninja's again?"

JD nodded glumly as Turk just glanced at him sympathetically before running back to the surgical wing to get ready for his next appendectomy. He had told his friends all about the incident between him and the late Daniel Knott a while ago—excluding all mentions of the _"You've been targeted"_ part, of course. He knew adding that would only worry them, and they probably wouldn't understand it anymore than he did, so he left it out.

He tried to cast it out of his own mind, also, but nothing seemed to work. He began to hear it all too often, and it was disturbing him. He tried not to let it show while he was with patients, but it bugged him to no end. Logically, the only reason it was still hanging around in his mind and ringing in his ears was because he was trying so hard to figure it out—the motives behind saying those words, and the way that Daniel Knott knew his name, and Patrick Knott found out his nickname.

It continued to bug him, even as he clocked out for the night after his sixteen-hour shift, and he dreaded the ride home. Since his hands did most the work, his daily rides to and from the hospital always gave him time to think, and while it worked to his advantage, due to his rampant imagination, tonight it looked horrible. He couldn't even fantasies properly—every time he tried, it always ended in the Knott-family ninja's taking over the scene.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

JD decided, in the end, to just suck it up and go home, where he could watch Gilmore Girls reruns and forget all about the events of the day. He threw his bag over his back and walked across the parking lot, where his scooter was waiting on the other side of the tarmac. He had just withdrawn his keys and spotted Sasha within his field of vision, when—

CRACK.

JD crashed to the pavement, pain blooming across the back of his head. The world was a blur of colors before him as his vision tried to right itself from the damage of the blow. He groaned, unable to process what had just occurred for a full five seconds before the denial was replaced with confusion. _What the hell...?!_

The young doctor received his answer a moment later when a sharp kick aimed at his side hit him directly in the ribs. The next moment later, another kick, which hit in the exact same spot and threw JD into a bout of pain he had never known existed. He gasped in agony, hands flying immediately to his side where he ran them across his ribs, checking for any break in the bones. Pain exploded across his mid-section when he prodded his fourth and fifth rib. _Definitely broken._

The next kick to his ribs was cushioned by his hands, which were crushed against his side. It wasn't enough to break his fingers, but the agony was mind-numbing. JD spluttered, the force of the next blow knocking him on his back. His head smacked into the ground again, and was cushioned by a thick, red liquid. Blood. He was bleeding. Somewhere within his mind, Doctor Diagnosis listed his injuries.

_Head trauma, repeated bashings against his mid-section. Ribs broken in two places._

But JD stopped listing them when he met the eyes of his captor. "You," he gasped, turning to his side again and clenching his eyes shut in hope that the blurry figure of Patrick Knott would somehow just disappear. When he opened them a moment later, he hadn't, and JD cursed. His first thought was: _Why are so many people after me today?_

And his second thought was: _Worst. Day. Ever._

He wasn't sure how he was so calm in the face of being beaten into a bloody pulp—for surely Patrick Knott wasn't going to stop slugging him in the gut just because JD asked him to—but it was probably due to the blood loss. He could feel the red liquid creating a pool around his head—one of which he kept falling into with every punch and kick—and he knew the delirium would be setting in soon if he didn't receive immediate medical attention.

The man above him paused to regain his bearings, and JD took the opportunity to ask the one question that was weighing heavily on his mind.

"W-Why?" He croaked, voice hoarse from the screams that had been ripped from him. He was more than a little surprised that someone hadn't noticed the brawl, but they _were_ in the least populated area of the carp ark, which was good news for Knott and horribly bad news for JD. He attempted to clear his throat, but didn't have much luck. Knott was staring down at him, a look of morbid curiosity flitting over his features. "Why are you doing this?"

Knott fell to his knees beside the young doctor in reply. For a moment, JD held hope that the man would stop beating him and actually reveal a straightforward answer for once, but he had no such luck. Knott only knelt beside him to grab his jacket and pull him up to his feet. Powerless, JD rose, only to fall back to the floor again a split second later when Knott threw a punch directly into his face, the man's fist smashing into JD's jaw.

His attacker straddled him, but before he beat JD senseless for a second time, he hissed his response to the young doctor's question.

"You are the target," Patrick Knott said, speaking in a low, guttural tone that chilled JD to the bone. "You must be killed."

JD had frozen completely at the words that passed through the man's lips, suddenly sure that this wasn't just a strange occurrence, or a case of him forgetting having met Daniel Knott.

No.

This was more than strange.

This was bordering on a conspiracy.

Unfortunately, a conspiracy to what, JD had no idea. All he knew was that he had never met these two men in his life and he had most definitely never done anything that would target him in the eyes of, well, _anyone_. Unless saving people's lives was suddenly a crime, JD had honestly no idea what Patrick Knott was talking about. _"You must be killed."_

_Why?_

But JD never received his answer, much like his inability to extract any answers from Daniel Knott, who was lying cold underneath a sheet in the morgue by now. Three things happened, right then, all in rapid succession of one another...

First, Patrick Knott lifted himself up from his place against JD, so the larger man was now straddling the dark-haired doctor. His face twisted into the most evil of grins, and JD shuddered. He knew, in that moment, that this wasn't just some man who was distraught over the death of his brother—he was a psychopath. Body frozen in fear, JD could only watch as Knott brought his fist down for another, crushing blow.

Secondly, a revving of a motorcycle could be heard as it flew across the parking lot at extreme speed. The sound exploded through JD's ears as the vehicle smashed against the security barrier in place at the back of the hospital and drove across the tarmac to where the two men were having it out. The headlights threw Knott into a frenzy as he used his hands to shield his eyes from the radiant glow. JD screwed his own eyes shut at the glaring light, feeling his entire body crumple in relief.

The third and final thing that occurred, however, threw the entire situation farther than JD expected. A massive cracking sound ripped through the night air, crashing against JD's ears and rendering him breathless at its magnitude. Less than half a second later, his eyes snapped open only to see the body of Patrick Knott fall to his side, blood gushing out of a wound to the head.

JD stared in complete shock at the blood-ridden body before him.

_What the..._

He felt faint. The world spun around him, a volley of sights, sounds and movement. He felt nausea begin to stir deep within his stomach as he rested his head against the ground, feeling utterly helpless as he lie there, his body abused and broken. Seeing blood on a daily basis meant that it didn't throw JD into a tailspin to see the corpse of Patrick Knott staring wide-eyed at him only a few feet away, but he was still completely and utterly shocked that the event had occurred in the first place.

And who knew if the person who had shot Knott wouldn't shoot him too?

This last fear—which had thrown him straight into a downward spiral, making his body numb with terror—was put to rest by the familiar face that clouded his vision. JD blinked up, trying to decipher who it was, and he cracked a smile when the realization hit him. _He's here. It's alright now..._

"Doctor Cox," JD whispered, grinning up at the curly-haired doctor who was staring down at him, mouth turning down into a familiar grimace. As the young doctor scanned the older man's face, his grin faded somewhat. Doctor Cox looked . . . different. He couldn't explain how, exactly, except maybe that his hair looked a little longer and his eyes were shielded from view by a pair of black, wraparound anti-flash glasses. JD managed to ease his growing doubt by reminding himself that it was still, unmistakably Doctor Cox—he had the same small frown that appeared between his eyebrows when he was worried about something and the same large, strong arms that were now used to pick JD up off the ground.

His smile returned. "I've figured you out, Doctor Cox."

The older man said nothing, which only confused JD. He expected more of a reaction to the news, to this answer that had formulated itself right in front of his very eyes when he saw his mentor rushing to his aid. It was so exciting; after all, that he'd finally done it. He'd finally figured it out. _And he won't be able to hide the fact that he cares, anymore. _The subtle differences between the man in front of him and the Doctor Cox he saw roaming the halls of the hospital faded from his mind.

"You—You care about me," he continued, "You'd never say it, but you're always there to save me." As he was saying this, a small part of his brain wondered why Doctor Cox wasn't calling for help when he was so clearly in dire need of it. Still, he decided he didn't care. His mentor was here, which meant that no one was going to beat him anymore, or shoot him, or bombard him with cryptic words and statements.

Doctor Cox raised an eyebrow in response to JD's statement. "Is that right?" He asked in a distant tone of voice while he worked on stopping the blood loss from the wound on the back of JD's head.

The young doctor smiled, muttering a drowsy "yup" in response to his question. His smile grew wider as the thought crossed his mind that things really were going to be okay now.

That's when his world—the parking lot, Patrick Knott, the pain in the back of his head and Doctor Cox—faded to black and JD welcomed blissful unconsciousness with a warm smile.

_Things were going to be alright._

_Why would you deny me answers,  
If I'm just a boy on the break of being?  
Horror and hell through its fires—  
Be brutally honest, was it better before me?_

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **And that's the end for Chapter II. Stay tuned for Chapter III, which promises some goodness of the Coxian (meaning Cox family, not JDCox slash) variety. Speaking of Doctor Cox, I really hope I've managed to keep Perry in character, since he's probably the character I have the hardest time with. Writing what you all know will eventually be future!Perry will be a lot easier, because his character would have changed over time, but writing vintage!Cox is a lot harder, because when he's concerned, it has to be written according to the character. So if you review, can you please drop a note on how I did with Doctor Cox in particular?

-- _Exangeline._


	4. The Visionary

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot, because whenever I go into Sci-Fi, it always turns out a little Stargate-like. Lyrics are owned by the fantastic Coheed and Cambria, as this arc of the story is best suited to their fantastic words.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **You have no idea how much I'm squee-ing inside. Not really because of this chapter, though it is one of my favorites so far, but because I finally plotted out the two key factors of this story—the dystopian future, and the new one. And guys? It's going to be _huge_. I'm not sure if everything will be to your liking, so when I implement it into the storyline, please _TELL_ me. Really, there's nothing I hate more than disgruntled reviewers (except, perhaps, no reviewers at all). But enough of my babbling. Enjoy 'The Visionary'.

Lyrics adapted from the song _The Crowing_ by Coheed and Cambria.

* * *

**CHAPTER III: THE VISIONARY**

_If given mistakes, would I take them back?  
If erasing them could, if erasing them would,  
But would they be the words that I would say?  
Your face, and a door between,  
I've parted three ways, for you._

The woman shifted in her seat, adjusting the hem of her pencil skirt as she tried her best not to let her extreme discomfort show. The man on the other side of the table pursed his lips in thought, staring at the spot above her right shoulder. She almost collapsed with relief at the fact that she was not the object of that cold, calculating stare—the man choosing instead to fix his eyes on the painting directly behind her—because she was beginning to sweat from the strain; and it showed.

Her hands were clenched into fists on either side of her, nails biting into her skin. She bit back a scream, derived not from the stinging sensation in her palm, but from the barrage of images her brain was throwing her way.

_Focus, _her mind screamed at her. _Focus..._

She knew that if she didn't leave in the next minute, it would probably be too late. She would be exposed—open and vulnerable, and this was the _last_ place she wanted to be if that occurred. Still, she couldn't deny the importance of his visit and how much she needed the help and support of the man behind the desk, even if she'd never admit it. There was no way their plan would succeed without him.

Unfortunately, with the exception of John Dorian, the man was probably the highest on the list of those being targeted. What scared her more was the idea that he could very well switch sides if he was ever allowed to know how much danger he would actually be in if he chose to help her. His knowledge was undeniable. She had seen every possibility, every single outcome—and none of them ended well when he wasn't present. _It's imperative that we gain his trust..._

The idea made her feel dirty—almost as bad as the enemy, but not quite. Nothing could ever measure up to the atrocities they had committed, and nothing could even come close to the amount of pain they were about to inflict. _The damage is, as they say, already done. The only thing we can do now is figure out how to soften the blow._ Having him on their side would make the hit as soft as a marshmallow. They _needed_ him, almost as much as they needed Dorian.

_JD. _She sighed, inwardly. _I meant JD—have to stop calling him Dorian, remember?_ _He's not that man. At least, not yet._

She was knocked out of her thoughts as the man behind the desk nodded absentmindedly. However, it was near impossible to tell whether it was in response to her proposal, or to the thoughts that were passing through his head. It was at times like these that she wished she'd been cursed with telepathy, not these blasted visions. Still, it seemed she didn't have to wait as long for him to reply as she thought, because with one last look at the papers on his desk—papers she had handed to him, containing the specifications of the job and, as a result, their alliance—he lifted his head and stared directly at her.

She resisted the urge to shudder as she met his gaze—hazel on ice-cold blue. She could feel herself freezing just from that stare . . .

"I accept," he said, after long last—his voice a deep rumbling, like thunder booming across the skies. "On one condition."

Her immediate relief was shrouded with apprehension, but they needed his help, so she cautiously replied: "And that would be?"

The corners of the man's mouth curved upward. She almost shuddered at the look in his eyes. Then he said:

"You get me in touch with my nephew."

She resisted the urge to burst out laughing. "Your nephew?" The man nodded, looking solemn all of a sudden. His eyes adapted a far-away look.

"Yes," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "But it's nothing for you to worry about..."

There was a brief pause.

"Perry and I have a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

JD woke to almost complete darkness, feeling worse for wear. His heart was pounding, his head was throbbing and his body was in excruciating pain. His vision took longer than he cared to admit to adjust and, even then, he wasn't able to tell where he was. He had quite a good guess, though, if the various monitors he was connected to were any indication. An IV drip was attached to his right arm, and his head was bandaged up pretty good. Still, the room was unlike any he had seen at Sacred Heart.

_Maybe I'm at a different hospital? _The young doctor considered.

But that wouldn't make any sense, he realized after a moment. He was right outside the hospital when Patrick Knott attacked him, so why would they send him to—

"Oh god," JD felt the blood in his veins freeze as the memory hit him full force. "Patrick Knott..."

A thousand thoughts raced through the young doctor's mind at that very moment. The first few were typical, things like: _What happened to the body? Had the authorities been called? Will they come after me? Did they even know I was involved?_ After freaking out about the possibility that he'd be put in jail, JD's mind went on overdrive, questioning whatever he remembered about the attack. _What about Doctor Cox? Would he tell them? Did he think that I killed Patrick Knott? Oh, god, do the police suspect that I'M the shooter? Who was the shooter, anyway? And what was with Doctor Cox's hair? Maybe Doctor Cox's hair was the shooter! But wait... can hair shoot people?_

As his thoughts thrust him into a downward spiral, JD let his imagination take him.

"Doctor Cox's hair probably could," he considered absently. "It's so springy; it could have easily set off the gun..."

JD shook his head a moment later, unable to believe he had let his imagination run off with him, even for a moment.

He sighed. _I'm in pain, I have no idea where I am and this place is practically deserted and all I can think about is Doctor Cox's hair? How typical._

JD's train of thought—which had gone straight back to freaking out about what had happened—was abruptly derailed by the door swinging open and the lights being flicked on. JD covered his eyes, having only just adapted to the dark. When he felt safe enough to remove his hands from his face and crack one eye open grimly, the first thing he did was check out his surroundings. _Nope,_ he asserted after only a second of scrutiny, _definitely not Sacred Heart._

The young doctor had been in virtually every single room of the hospital—except, maybe, the ladies toilets—but he'd definitely never been here before. The room didn't resemble anything even remotely like a patient's room at Sacred Heart. He was in the middle of the room... and it was _huge_. What could only be described as a massive antechamber of sorts, the room was a vast space full of nothing but a bed, the monitors and the drip, and a small table only a few feet away from him. The surrounding walls were of a dark brick, and the cold, concrete floor made it look uncannily like a warehouse. There were no windows, and only one entrance, which happened to be located directly behind him.

JD craned his neck, trying to see who his visitor was. After at least a minute of failed attempts to try and turn around, it registered with the dark-haired doctor—who resembled something more of a patient, right about now—that perhaps he didn't _want_ to know. For all he knew, he was kidnapped by another member of the Knott family, who was going to talk about being a target before beating him up. He eyed the IV stick warily. Ninja's could use anything to attack.

Footsteps reverberated across the concrete floor as the stranger's shoes hit its surface with each forthcoming step. JD felt his stomach clench in anticipation as the first real stirrings of fear crept up on him. The sounds grew louder and louder against his ears as the person approached his bed. JD kept painstakingly still, hoping that whoever it was would think he was sleeping. He shut his eyes for good measure, and the world was covered in a veil of black once more.

A familiar voice hit his ears.

"I know you're awake." JD recognized the voice and his eyes snapped open. His entire body crumpled with relief when he saw Doctor Cox standing at the end of his bed, his strong features contorted into a small frown as he regarded the younger man. JD let his eyes roam his mentor's face, realizing that he was wearing the same black, anti-flash glasses for some strange reason. The young doctor grimaced. _I guess it's no weirder than wearing them at 10 o'clock at night..._

The next thing JD noticed, as he did the last time they met, was his hair. It was longer, darker and less curly. His imagination and the logical part of his mind fought for control, but logic won out this time. _Doctor Cox uses a curling iron, or so Carla told me, so if he stopped using it, his hair would definitely straighten out._ It would probably look longer, too, and he guessed that the fluorescent lights in the hospital could make it look lighter...

Speaking of which—

"Doctor Cox, where am I?"

Since JD had allowed his thoughts to take him, the older doctor had moved to check the IV and his side before observing the bandages on the back of JD's head. He pressed down on them softly, trying to pinpoint where it—"Ow." JD winced. Doctor Cox resumed poking and prodding at his skull and looking up at his mentor, the dark-haired doctor couldn't help but add: "And why do you look different?"

Doctor Cox injected a clear liquid into the IV—which JD could only assume was a painkiller or a sedative—before he turned to him. The two men locked eyes with one another and silence was the only thing to be heard for a long, drawn-out moment before JD sighed and Doctor Cox looked away. He could feel the painkillers taking hold of his system, and the haze of sleep falling down around him once more.

The older man shot JD a small, but sincere smile.

"Just get some rest there, JD," he said, softly, before walking around the bed and back towards the entrance of the hangar-like room.

In the brief window he had before the drugs took him, JD grimaced. Something about what Doctor Cox had said to him sounded off. As the young doctor's eyes drew to a close, he remembered.

_Doctor Cox never calls me JD..._

* * *

The woman fell against the wall of the ladies bathroom, gasping in relief. She had come so close to exposure that she could feel it swirling like fog against her skin. Still, she had managed to get passed Argyle Cox unscathed, and because of that, the odds seemed to be in her favor. A small—and rare—smile crossed over her sharp, yet beautiful features right then. They'd definitely be happy with her for this.

Her smile faded quickly, however, when she remembered the dull throbbing in her temples that always accompanied her blocking out a vision. _Time to open the floodgates, then,_ she considered with a small frown. _It won't be pretty... _

Collapsing into a cubicle and swinging the door shut, she pressed the palm of her hands deep into her knees as she sat, lid-down on the toilet seat. When she was comfortable—or, at least, about as comfortable as she could get—she squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mind, allowing the images to seep through. They came slowly, at first, as her mind grew accustom to the wave of thoughts, feelings, sounds and flashes of colour.

Soon, however, they picked up in speed and intensity, and suddenly those flashes became full-blown segments—like a home movie displayed right before her eyes. In order to see them correctly, however, her eyes needed to be open.

To an outsider, she became an almost terrifying sight. She sat stock still, body completely rigid and straight. Her stare became vacant and her pupils were almost completely dilated, engulfing the irises of her eyes until their hazel melded in with the black. The dull blue and grey theme of the lavatory faded from view and the walls of the cubicle fell away in one steady and swift movement. Her mind was open, her body was relaxed, and her gift was in control.

She lost all sense of herself in the face of the void in front of her. Everything that had happened, everything that was happening and everything that would happen was suddenly stretched out beneath her feet.

_It's time__._

She released the barrier keeping the world at her feet and it exploded upwards, surrounding her with the past, the present and the future. She waded through the images, all co-ordination lost until she came to a glittering thread. Her hands grabbed a hold of it and she followed it through the mist. Meanwhile, images began to form in front of her eyes as she drew in more and more of the shining, silver cord.

It was a rare opportunity that she was able to choose what she saw, but it usually happened after being able to fend off her visions for extended periods of time. A reward, perhaps, for her effort? She didn't know or much care. It was an opportunity and she took it, her mind already focused on the one person she needed to see the most—the key player in this game and the one they had to protect at all costs...

_Show me John Dorian__._

Against all odds, her gift complied.

She sifted through the various life events of his past—from the memories he wouldn't have remembered, to those he would remember all too well. She knew by now that being opinionated about the images she saw were unfair, and would only land her in deep trouble. So even though a few of his med-school tirades were laugh-able and his childhood with his brother was ridiculous, she remained a level head. It didn't take long for the more recent events to factor into it until the past melded with the present and her mind was greeted by an image of JD lying on a bed in the middle of their down-town base of operations. He was sleeping soundly, eyes fluttering underneath closed lids.

_Dreaming, most likely,_ she thought, unable to keep the amusement out of her mind. _Not that the kid ever _stops_ dreaming..._

Her thoughts were cut off by another image that caught her eye. She had flitted over the events that would occur this same day and focused on those that were further away. Seeing the future was undeniably harder than seeing the past and the present—it was like fighting against the tide, which tried to pull you back the way you came when what you were searching for was located further into the ocean. Still, she pressed on, flinging herself forward and clutching onto that one event.

She fell into it. The world shifted from the myriad of events and decisions that made up John Dorian's life, to this one in particular. It showed JD slumping against a brick wall in the alley away from the warehouse. Blood dripped down his arm from a deep cut on his elbow. He looked exhausted, worse for wear, and she had seen enough of the past few days to know that he was feeling the full effect of the beating he had received the day before the current chain of events that were playing out in her mind. He tried to press forward, but he stumbled, head cracking against the wall. She shivered on his behalf as he fell into unconsciousness—_that had to have hurt._

She was about to press onwards, to see what became of him, when a sharp sound invaded the peace she had established around herself. The images receded, even as she tried to keep a hold of them. They faded into thin air and suddenly the real world came crashing down on her. The grey and blue décor of the ladies bathroom came back at her, full force, and she felt the walls of the cubicle surrounding her once more. Her backside ached from its place on the toilet seat and her palms were slick with sweat. She grimaced, wiping it on her skirt which was, admittedly, not a very ladylike gesture, but she didn't really care in that moment. The sharp sound continued to play out.

She opened her handbag, hands securing the object that had so forcefully pulled her out of her reverie. She flipped open her mobile, and placed it against her ear.

"Hello?" She asked, blearily. The world was still out of focus, and the haze from her vision remained.

The voice on the other end came out loud and clear. "Did everything go according to plan, Visionary?"

She smiled a little at the name as she realized who it was she was speaking with. "Yes, Argyle has agreed to provide his full support," she replied, smoothly, the fog lifting enough for her to provide a more detailed reply. "Financially, that is."

"Perfect," the person on the other side stated, clearly pleased. There was a small pause, wherein they seemed to be considering what to say next. "Are you able to come in?"

"Yes."

Her reply was immediate as she remembered the lucidity of her vision. If something happened to Dorian, she wanted to be around when it did. She grasped at her temple as she thought this, the familiar stirrings of a headache creeping up on her.

She scowled. _Damnit._

The person on the other end was oblivious to her pain. "I'll see you soon, Visionary." They said.

She smiled through the throbbing in her head to reply, "You too, Stranger."

The woman hung up the phone and walked out of the cubicle, only to fall against the wall a moment later as dizziness clouded her vision. She grimaced, though the action was devoid of any real negativity, because unlike everyone else, she _knew._

"Everything pales in comparison to what's about to occur," she muttered, and left the bathroom.

* * *

The next time JD woke, it was to the sound of voices whispering softly to one another beside his bed. The young doctor strained his ears to listen as he came to after realizing, even half-consciously, that eavesdropping might actually reveal more answers than straight out asking did, since everyone he spoke to seemed to have their heart set on being cryptic. It took a few minutes to regaining his motor functions and brush off the haze of sleep, but he managed to listen in.

"Have you searched all the rooms, yet?" The first voice, which JD instantly recognized as Doctor Cox, spoke.

The second voice wasted no time in responding: "Yeah, there's no one else here. It looks like the Knott's were the only ones." JD didn't recognize the other voice, but one key word stuck out to him—_Knott._ Unfortunately, the word only raised a billion more questions that were threatening to burst out of the younger doctor right then, and he'd only just started listening in, too. _Maybe this is a bad idea,_ he considered, but the rest of his train of thought was cut off by Doctor Cox.

"You better be re-he-_heally_ sure about that, kid." _Yup,_ JD thought with an inward smile, _that's definitely Doctor Cox._

The other voice immediately retorted: "Please don't call me kid anymore. Do I _look _like a kid?"

"Yes," Doctor Cox replied, clearly amused. "Yes you do."

Whoever Doctor Cox was talking about didn't seem particularly happy about this statement, if the silence that followed after was any indication. Eventually, his curiosity seemed to get the better of him, because he asked: "So, did you talk to her yet?"

"Yeah, she's coming in."

"When?"

"Now."

The other person swore loudly. JD wondered who they were talking about, and why 'she' was coming here, and why the hell _he_ was here. So many questions circulated through his mind, ones that he hoped they'd answer...

"Mind your language," Doctor Cox spoke after a moment, "And stop worrying, Jacko. She might not be from our time, but that doesn't mean she doesn't understand."

Then he paused. "Besides, she let me call her the Visionary."

The other person, whom JD presumed was named Jack, chuckled at Doctor Cox's words before answering: "I guess you're right." While the two shared a small silence, JD's mind was whirring, trying to comprehend the conversation in a way that didn't make him completely oblivious to everything they were talking about. He didn't have much luck, except to consider how strange it was that Doctor Cox was talking to a man named Jack, when his son's name was Jack—perhaps this was the man he named him after? But the kid couldn't have sounded a day over eighteen. The dark-haired doctor was extremely confused, especially since Doctor Cox was speaking to this Jack as if he was talking to his own son.

_His own son? No, no way..._

"Do you reckon we should wake him?" The man—Jack—spoke, bringing JD out of his mild freak-out at his brain's wild theories.

"Nah," Doctor Cox replied, voice sounding strangely soft. "He went through a lot yesterday. You weren't there to see it, but Knott really did a number on him."

Jack whistled in sympathy, then added, "Before you shot him, you mean."

JD resisted the urge to grimace and open his eyes to stare at the two. What did he mean? Did _Doctor Cox_ shoot Patrick Knott? No, Doctor Cox was a doctor, a healer. He wouldn't kill anybody, not even psychopaths like Patrick Knott. He didn't like at all what Jack was implying. Sure, he'd joked about it before in his own mind, but he couldn't seriously believe that Doctor Cox—his mentor, his_ idol_, would just whip out a gun and shoot someone...

That is, until Doctor Cox uttered a subdued, "Yeah."

_What the hell is going on here? _JD thought, unable to comprehend what was being said. _Doctor Cox did NOT just say yes to that, did he?_

"Good riddance to them both," his mentor continued. "The world's a better place without th—"

"That's _IT_!" JD interrupted.

Both men spun around as JD leapt out of his bed, feet hitting the cold, concrete floor with a gentle thud. He ripped out the various tubes he was attached to, including the IV—_Ouch_—and stalked straight up to the pair, situated less than five feet from his bed. His face was contorted into a look of almost murderous rage as he regarded them, mouth curved downwards into a grimace.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" He demanded when neither man responded to his initial outburst. He turned to Doctor Cox, who was standing there, eyes shielded by those same, black glasses that made it impossible for JD to see his expression. Still, he tore into him, his inaction fueling the rage that bubbled deep within the dark-haired doctor. "Why are you talking about killing people when you're a doctor? Who the hell is _he?_" He pointed to Jack. "And why are you wearing those glasses?"

"Uh, I'm going to go now—" Jack turned and began to walk away, but Doctor Cox fisted his shirt, dragging him back so they were standing side-by-side in front of JD.

The older man cleared his throat. "Firstly, what the hell is going on here is that you've just gone ballistic and tugged out your IV, which has set back the healing process a couple of days, something I am so no-_hot_ happy about. Secondly, did you forget that said man I killed was beating you to a bloody pulp? Ah-_bup-bup_!" Doctor Cox pressed a finger to JD's lips when he began to speak. "Normally I would have awarded the guy a medal, but we're on a very specific mission here, and there's no way I'm going to sabotage it to protect your poor little feelings about the value of human lives. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Sandra-Dee."

Then he added: "And this _kid,_ here—" Jack scowled at the word. "—is my son, Jack."

Jack smiled weakly and waved at JD.

JD looked from Doctor Cox to Jack to Doctor Cox again, grimacing. "If this is some sort of elaborate trick—"

"It's not a trick, JD," Jack spoke, causing JD to avert his eyes back to his. "We're from the future."

JD scoffed. "You've got to be kidding," he said, laughing slightly. When both men just stared back at him with blank stares, the dark-haired doctor scowled. "I'm not that gullible!"

"Well," Doctor Cox began, looking tired, "We're not lying."

JD lifted his chin a little, far from convinced. "So why am I here, then? Why are all these people after me? I heard what you were talking about. You knew about Daniel _and_ Patrick Knott, so tell me."

The two of them exchanged a glance. Then Jack began, slowly, "I don't really think we're the ones who should tell you." As JD was about to argue, he added. "It's not our place."

"Then whose is it?" JD snapped, feeling anger develop from his growing confusion.

"It's _mine_."

The two men were about to reply when suddenly the door behind them slammed open. All three of them turned to look at the figure standing in the threshold of the door. The sun streaming in from the other room blinded them to her features, but the figure was clearly female. Dressed in a pencil skirt and a silk blouse, holding a clutch purse in one hand, the woman stepped through the doorsill and into the room.

JD twisted around to stare at Doctor Cox and Jack. Doctor Cox just grinned back at him, and Jack pointed to the woman, affirming her words: "It's hers."

The woman walked across the length of the room, heels clacking against the concrete floor. She came to a stop in front of the three men.

She nodded to Jack and Doctor Cox.

Then she turned to JD.

"Hi, DJ," Jordan said, grinning.

_Did you ever really know before, my face, shamed to break?  
Did you ever really know before, my mind, scared to think?  
Did you ever really know before, my name, son to these?  
Did you, did you come clean in the end,  
From the start?_

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **If some of you are wondering: "Why Jordan?" my answer is quite simple. I love her character, probably as much as I love JD and Perry's, and I thought I should honor that by making her an important part of this story. While I'm an avid JDCox reader, I also love those moments in the series with Jordan and Perry. While this story generally has no pairings, there will be emphasis on the connection between the three. Which means JD/Cox fans (be it slash _or_ friendship) will have the JD and Perry interaction, while those who enjoy a more general, or canon approach, will also have Jordan as one of the key characters. I also love JD/Jordan friendship, which is in short supply on this website, but will definitely factor into the story. But enough of my babbling, I hope you enjoyed Chapter III, and stay tuned for the four-way conversation between JD, Perry, Jordan and Jack.

This will be interesting. ;)

--_ Exangeline._


	5. The Runner

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot, because whenever I go into Sci-Fi, it always turns out a little Stargate-like. Lyrics are owned by the fantastic Coheed and Cambria, as this arc of the story is best suited to their fantastic words. Speaking of which, does anybody know any good bands? I'm starved for musical inspiration over here.

**IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE: **I have a request, my faithful readers, and I promise you it's not a ploy to get reviews from you or anything like that. I just need to honestly know your opinion on this chapter, because I feel the inexplicable urge to start from scratch on this one whenever I read it. Its bothering the crap out of me, almost to the point where I wasn't going to post it at all, but I decided I needed a different opinion. So please, please tell me what you think, even if it's only a few words.

In other news, jobs are time-consuming, monotonous and exhausting. I feel not unlike JD at the end of this chapter. Don't get one. Ever.

Lyrics adapted from the song _The Crowing_ by Coheed and Cambria.

* * *

**CHAPTER IV: THE RUNNER (Part I)**

_I fought the decisions that call and lost,  
My mark has the relevant piece in this—  
I will come reformed._

The four of them just stood there—Perry upright, with a small frown on his face, Jack with a wan smile, JD with his eyes blown wide and his mouth open as he gaped at Jordan in disbelief and Jordan herself, standing with her hands on her hips and an amused smile on her face as she gauged their reactions with a watchful eye. They stood in silence for about half a second, before JD abruptly broke through the quietude, still staring at Jordan as if she'd grown an extra head.

"_Jordan?"_ He spluttered.

Everyone's attention shifted accordingly.

"_You're_ the one they—" He pointed to Jack and Doctor Cox, the latter of which raised his eyebrows behind the reflective lenses of his glasses. "—were talking about? The _Visionary?_"

Jordan scowled and for a terrifying moment JD was sure that he was about to be torn a new one for something he'd said. Instead, Jordan whipped around to Doctor Cox and Jack, eyes flaming. "What have I told you about calling me that, Perry? I am not some circus freak they assign stage names to. Speaking of which, _Stranger,_ I haven't even started on you for coming back here with Jack. Don't you dare encourage him with your incredibly stupid ideas—it'll get him killed."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Uh, you're forgetting that this was _my_ idea?"

Instead of glaring daggers at Jack like JD thought, Jordan just crossed her arms over her chest before turning to Perry in a perfect imitation of Carla's oh-no-you-didn't stance that JD was certain she had gotten from the queen bee herself.

"See, Perry? It's started already."

Both Jack and Doctor Cox opened their mouths, presumably to argue against her, but Jordan wasn't finished yet.

"I don't have time for this!" She exclaimed. "If both of you have forgotten, me and Sally Sensitive over here—" She pointed to JD, who coughed indignantly. "—actually _belong_ to this time, which means we have commitments. Can you say that for me, boys? Com-_mit -_ments. God, I feel like I'm teaching kindergarten students." JD felt extremely out of place at that moment, stuck in the middle of a family quarrel he never expected to be experiencing. Jordan, however, managed to get to the heart of the matter before things grew even more awkward. "Now what have you told him?"

"Nothing," Jack replied quickly, eyes trained on Jordan, just as Doctor Cox was about to open his mouth to speak. "He overheard us talking, and—"

Perry groaned loudly.

"Just do it already, Jack," He remarked exasperatedly.

JD's mind was clouded with confusion and he was about to blurt out the most urgent question on his lips—_"Do what?"_—when Jack suddenly launched himself at Jordan, hugging her tightly around the waist. Jordan just widened her eyes in surprise before hugging him back hesitantly. All former anger seemed to have disappeared from the air, however, with this one small gesture. As JD and Perry watched on, Jack said the one thing that JD hadn't expected to come out of the kid's mouth:

"It's so good to see you, Mom."

In hindsight, he really _should_ have expected it because, as they said, Jack was Jordan and Perry's son. But it was so unexpected, so out of the blue that JD realized right then what his problem was with all of this.

He didn't believe them.

Still, he couldn't deny that as the words sunk in, he began to realize how much Jack really _did_ look like the son of Perry and Jordan . . . only older, and with darker hair. He had Jordan's almond-shape eyes and shared his father's strong features, but smoother and full of youth. He was tall—taller than anyone else there—which made JD believe that he was probably near the end of his teenage years. _Seventeen, eighteen perhaps?_ JD couldn't tell.

"So you're really Jack Cox, huh?" He asked, laughing weakly. Despite his doubt, which felt very far-away at that moment as he looked on, JD found himself unable to control the words that drifted out of his mouth right then. Jack disengaged himself from Jordan—who was looking quite ruffled—to turn and stare at JD. A smile crossed over his youthful features and JD couldn't resist smiling back, despite himself, especially when Jack replied:

"The one and only."

"This _is_ for real, DJ," Jordan said, recovering from her son's hug to press a kiss against Perry's cheek. The older man looked quite surprised about this turn of events, almost as if the two of them weren't as close in the future as they were now, in the present. It would certainly explain the way Jack reacted to his mother, too. _Wait a second,_ JD thought, grimacing inwardly. _I just said I didn't believe them. I don't believe them, do I? Visiting from the future? That's not even possible._

_Not in the present, it isn't._

As the seconds ticked by it became apparent to JD that the logical side of his brain was winning him over again, despite his imagination's insistence. His imaginative side wanted nothing more than to submerge himself in the story—to think that time travel is really possible, like in Turk and his favorite new TV show, _Heroes,_ but the logical side had other plans. Whenever his imagination began to make sense, the logical part of his brain would remind him that if time travel were actually possible, even in the future, wouldn't there have been other people to come back in time? It was quite unlikely that Doctor Cox and Jack were the very first, wasn't it?

And for all he knew, this was just an elaborate prank played by Doctor Cox and Jordan, who managed to find a relative that somehow looked like Jack. There was also the power of suggestion, JD knew, in projecting what you want to see into someone. He'd idealized people all his life—who knew that this wasn't just another one of those times? It was certainly more likely than the story they were trying to sell him.

The metaphor reminded him of a fantasy he'd had some time ago...

"_Yeah," Imaginary-JD said distastefully, handing a large hardcover book back to the attractive girl behind the register. "I'm not buying it."_

JD lost himself in the fantasy, but all that came out of his mouth was a distant: "I should call her..." as he thought of Lisa, the gift-shop girl at Sacred Heart. The dark-haired doctor blinked once, twice and about nine more times before returning to reality, only to realize he was under scrutiny by not one or two, but all three of them. Jack wore a small frown, Jordan had her hands on her hips and Doctor Cox just stared exasperatedly at him.

Then the latter's face cracked out into a gigantic grin as he regarded JD, and he and Jack fell into a random bout of laughter. Jordan just stared at the pair, rolling her eyes and muttering something about their stupidity running in the family.

JD just watched on in disbelief.

"I-I'm sorry!" Jack blurted out, in between laughs. "It's just been so long since you've done that."

Doctor Cox shook his head, still wearing an amused grin. "Good god, Newbie."

"What?" JD snapped, feeling irritation rise from his confusion. "What did I do that was so funny?"

Jack grinned at him, chuckling. "That daydream thing, where you tilt your head and zone out for awhile then say something completely random."

JD still—as his fantasy stated—was not buying it. "And I don't do that in the future?" He asked with an eyebrow raised, playing along.

Only silence greeted him.

"No," Doctor Cox said after a while, the grin slipping off his face as soon as it had come. His mentor just stared at him for a long moment before averting his gaze. "No, you don't."

Jack and Jordan looked uncomfortable, and Doctor Cox wouldn't meet JD's eyes. All was silent, and JD was just about to explode with some nonsensical babbling that he didn't even know the nature of when Jordan took the plunge—thankfully—for him.

"Per-Per!" She said, looking strangely cheerful. "We really need to talk about that little errand you send me off to accomplish. Your Uncle Argyle was delightful... for a complete nutcase, that is."

The reason for her supposed happiness was revealed a moment later when Perry sighed. _Ah, right,_ JD remembered,_ Jordan likes to see his pain. I wonder if she still does in the future—_

"Damnit!" The dark-haired doctor exclaimed—which, of course, sent all the attention swimming back to him.

_Why do I keep thinking about that?_ He hissed to himself._ I don't believe what they're saying. I don't!_

A moment passed which seemed to stretch into a small eternity of silence within JD's head, until a subdued voice added:

_But... I want to._

The young doctor sighed, putting his head in his hands, oblivious to the three people in the room who had their eyes fixated on him. Upon seeing JD look so exhausted all of a sudden, Perry abandoned his place next to Jordan to stand in front of him.

"You need to rest," Doctor Cox stated in the familiar, no-nonsense tone that JD was so used to hearing. "Since you were stupid enough to pull out your IV, it's going to take longer for you to get to sleep. We'll have to hook you back up again." While he was speaking, the older man put a commanding hand on JD's shoulder, steering him towards the bed. Despite his reluctance, JD sat. Future or no, he wasn't going to disobey a direct order from Doctor Cox.

Once JD was in bed, Perry called out: "Jack!"

As Jack helped JD reconnect the IV and various other monitors he was connected to, Jordan and Perry walked towards the entrance, chatting about something to do with Doctor Cox's uncle. All JD could hear was _'creepy'_, _'like ice'_ and_ 'you owe me'_. He almost smiled at the exchange. _Typical Doctor Cox and Jordan._ Jack smiled sympathetically in his direction, misinterpreting the amused sigh he let out as one of misery.

"I know this is all a bit hard to take in right now, but you should probably get some rest. Dad was right—pulling out your IV probably means you'll still be in a bad way for a few more days. It's got to hurt, doesn't it?" He asked, pointing to the bandages wrapped around JD's head. Despite the fact that he didn't believe a word they were saying—okay, maybe he did, but only a little bit—JD couldn't find it within him to be rude to Jack, or whoever he was.

So instead of brushing him off, JD lifted up the side of his top.

Jack whistled in concern as the gauze wrapped around his midsection loosened from the commotion he made lifting the t-shirt above his head. The bandages drooped, revealing the red and purple skin underneath.

"Ouch," the teenager alleged, cringing.

"Yeah," JD responded, glancing down at the damage done to his ribs. Now that he was thinking about it, the pain began to gnaw on him again. The young doctor winced as he looked down on the deep red, purple and black splotches on his skin. JD shuddered, moaning softly, "I didn't think it was that bad..."

Jack nodded. "I'm no doctor," he alleged, "but I think you might be here for a while."

With that, the teenager left, walking out of the same door that Perry and Jordan had only moments ago and leaving him alone in the vast and empty room.

JD frowned, wondering briefly how long they were going to keep him there. Still torn about his decision whether or not to believe them, the dark-haired doctor decided right then that if they didn't manage to convince him soon, he was out.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, JD plucked a string from his bed sheets, realising that Jack was right. The younger Cox—if he even _was_ Jack Cox, that is—was definitely not a doctor. Instead of being asleep and unaware, the brunet was awake and alert, thanks to a misplaced IV. Still, it gave him time to think about everything that had happened, which ended up being both a blessing and a curse at the same time.

JD knew he should be leaving, just getting up and going despite himself—but something kept him rooted to the spot, and it wasn't just because of his injuries, either. He'd realised a while ago what it was and how it came to be, but he didn't really want to admit it to himself in case this really was just an elaborate prank by two very bored, very evil colleagues. Still...

He was curious.

He wasn't sure if he believed what they had said, but something about the proceedings had captured his interest. He was a man with an imagination—too big a one, most people would say—and in this case he couldn't help but let it run away with him. There were so many questions unanswered, so many things that they had known about that they couldn't possibly have. He had to know what they knew; he had to know _how_ they knew and—

BEEP.

JD slammed into the IV pole as he scrabbled in surprise and gasped at the wave of crippling pain that washed through him. It took him longer than he cared to admit to realise that the sound was coming from his pager, mostly because his thoughts had spurred a fantasy, in which JD was cast away to sea by the human embodiment of pain, which bore a certain, uncanny resemblance to the Janitor. Despite his pain, JD narrowed his eyes comically. _Janitor..._

After thoroughly searching the surrounding warehouse for any sign of the tall, looming maintenance man, JD affirmed that the coast was clear and resolutely shook off the daydream. However, it was in that moment that the young doctor actually decided to _read_ the message on his pager, which elicited an even stronger response from him. The message was from Turk, who had quite amusedly written:

"_Where are you, dude? Security just impounded Sasha, so you better get over here soon. Why did you park in the visitor's area, anyway?"_

"Crap," JD muttered, "I'd forgotten about that."

The young doctor pondered his dilemma. He knew, either way, that he'd have to make his way back to Sacred Heart—and soon. His head felt fine, if not a little fuzzy, and the pain in his ribs had been reduced to a dull throb. He'd managed to get used to the ache by not being doped up on drugs, which actually seemed to have worked to his advantage after all. JD contemplated the idea of leaving, knowing he'd have to get Sasha back one way or another—_why did I park her in the visitor's area again?_—and he came to the conclusion that if this was just all a cruel trick, then the joke was on Doctor Cox and Jordan when they realised he was gone. If it was real, however, he knew that there weren't many places he'd go that they wouldn't know about.

Either way, they could find him again, so he sent a message back to Turk, saying: _"I'll be there soon, SCB. Stall them!"_

His resolve strengthened, JD stepped down from the bed, his feet resting against the smooth, concrete floor soundlessly. He experimented with shifting his weight from one foot to the other, even though it hadn't been that long since he'd last stood up. Still, he'd seen first hand how carelessness could only worsen injuries and although he knew it was an extremely careless thing to attempt in the first place, he would try to be as careful as he could.

JD secured his pager, checked the room and crept towards the warehouse entrance, disappearing a moment later through the threshold of the door. Closing it softly behind him, he crept down the hall, following the winding corridors until he saw daylight.

* * *

Jordan stared at the auburn-haired man in front of her, unable to decide whether she was relieved or disturbed by his presence. Not many things took her by surprise anymore, but the way that Perry Cox had changed was one of them. She'd seen what he did and knew what he was going to do, but she'd never stopped to think about how he had changed. Still, her feelings were ambivalent—the relief stemmed from the fact that what they did there today may very well save tomorrow, laying to rest a future that nobody wanted to experience. What disturbed her, though, was that she knew Perry Cox better than anyone else in the world—yet she had no idea who this man seated across from her was.

He was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

But Jordan found that the one thing that remained to be constant, no matter what time Perry was coming from, was his disdain for Argyle Cox.

The conversation that followed leaving the main hangar was a stiff and cold one, reminiscent of his uncle's demeanor. Perry's face had adorned a worried frown upon hearing Argyle's conditions, but what remained unspoken between them told her loud and clear that it had to be done. Argyle was, as they'd said, a key player in this game. Aside from DJ, he was probably the most important.

Jordan's mind flickered to Sally, whom, as she'd once stated, she 'nothinged'. It was a just statement—she didn't exactly _like_ DJ, but she didn't _dis_like him either. It was an odd combination of desire and apathy, the former derived from the fact that, although he'd never admit it, Perry cared about the kid. It was evident whenever he talked about him, be it calmly or in one of his rants. She considered that maybe his future counterpart would be more inclined to tell her whether she was right—even though she knew she was—as she knew the current outcome to their situation saw the two becoming a lot closer. _For good reason, too._

"Jordan?" A rough voice brought her out of her reverie. Jordan glanced up at Perry, not having realized she'd dropped her eyes in the first place. "What were you thinking about?"

"DJ," Jordan said immediately, knowing that if she kept it any longer, he'd probably misinterpret her absentmindedness with something to do with Argyle.

"Is everything alright?"

Just as Jordan was about to reply affirmatively, her mind froze. No. Everything _wasn't_ okay.

"How the hell could I forget about DJ?" She exclaimed, jumping up from her chair. Now that she had remembered, she couldn't seem to forget. She only hoped that it wasn't too late—

"Jordan? What is it?" In the time it took for her thoughts to become flooded with what she had seen, Perry had stood from his chair and crossed the length of the room, coming to a stop in front of her. He gripped her shoulders tightly and pulled himself down to her level. "What's wrong? Is something going to happen to JD?"

Feeling absolutely pathetic, Jordan only nodded.

Perry let her go and walked to the desk where a speakerphone was sitting in the middle of it. Perry dialed the secondary hangar, where he knew Jack was. "Jack," he called. "Check on JD, will you?"

They heard footsteps down the hall before the door to the main hangar was opened. A moment or two passed wherein Jack made his way to the middle of the room.

He broadcasted a reply the moment later. "He's not here!"

"Damn it," Perry whispered, interlacing his hands behind his head.

Jordan nodded in affirmation.

"We have to hurry."

* * *

JD grimaced against the growing feeling of unease boiling in the pit of his stomach. The alleyway was dark and maneuvering past the boundaries of the warehouse had taken a lot out of him. The outskirts of the run-down facility had been bordered by a bared wire fence, and it took longer than he cared to admit for him to find the exit, and even when he did, it was a struggle—enough of one for him to consider turning back.

_But t__he sooner I get to Sacred Heart, the better, right? _He asked himself, though his heart wasn't entirely in it when he replied back with an affirmative. In fact, he felt utterly divided. The initial reason why was obvious—the moment he'd passed the fence, JD had felt completely exhausted. It was as if all the pain, suffering and detachment his body had managed to repress had reserved itself for that very moment, wherein it struck him straight in the chest, rendering him breathless.

But that wasn't the only reason, a fact of which the young doctor frowned at but couldn't muster up the strength to deny.

He was beginning to wonder—_what if?_

_What if Doctor Cox and Jordan are telling the truth? __What if the events of the past two days have been interconnected? What if they're all for a reason, a higher purpose—what if the Knott's weren't crazy?_

And the most damning of all...

_What if they want to kill me?_

The thought chilled JD to the bone. He shuddered, as if to emphasize the statement. The train of thought was a dangerous one—something he really shouldn't be thinking about at such a time. Still, it was impossible not to. The questions kept spinning—most of them out of control—within his head. He couldn't control them, he couldn't stop them and he wasn't sure he wanted to. It was the only thing keeping him from thinking about the walk ahead, which was beginning to look more and more like a bad idea.

As his brain waged war against him, and his body was pushed to breaking point, JD stepped forward... only somehow, he missed. It happened so quickly that he wasn't even sure it was real. One moment, he was walking down the alley and the next, the world was spinning before him. His sides burned, his head throbbed and a barrage of exhaustion coursed through his system, unbelievable in its strength. It absolutely floored him.

He crashed to the ground, body smacking against the pavement with a heinous crack.

JD saw red. Then black.

Then nothing.

_I will call you out from shelter,  
Burn your wings, you'll know no better._

* * *

**Authors Note II:** If you think the ending is cheap and overused, I agree. My original idea was to have it much longer, but at 4,300 (or so) words, I thought I might be pushing the limit so I divided it into two parts. Again, I apologise profusely for the lateness of this chapter. Jobs are just so... _uhg._ But the money is great, so it's no real loss, as long as I can write. Thanks for being so patient, and thank you to everyone who added "My Trigger" to your alert list. I'm happy to see that people actually want to be notified of when I update. It's a big thing for me—so thanks again. But seriously, tell me what you think about this chapter and whether or not I should rewrite it.

Part II of The Runner will be posted soon.

--_Exangeline._


	6. The Patient

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot. I am completely convinced that Brad Wright and the producers of _Stargate_ own at least a third of this, or perhaps Tim Kring from _Heroes_? Either way, I owe someone money. Lyrics are owned by the fantastic Coheed and Cambria, because, as previously stated, this arc of the story is best suited to their fantastic music.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Thanks so much for your support in the first half of this chapter. You've all waited so patiently for this one, so I'm not going to waste your time listing a whole load of random and fruitless things. Without any further ado, enjoy Chapter V of _My Trigger_.

Lyrics adapted from the song _33_ by Coheed and Cambria.

* * *

**CHAPTER V: THE PATIENT (Part II)**

_In pieces they stagger, embedded,  
Rush me to the emergency room.  
Flat line equals frantic endeavor,  
But I guess this will have to do now._

The turbines spun as sweat-drenched workers made their way across the warehouse, falling rhythmically into their various tasks. The shrill, high-pitched sound of machinery whirring to life filled the room. Skin hit metal, a clash of man and machine, coexisting with one another to produce and maintain. Men locked eyes with their co-workers as the chatter died down. The next rotation had begun...

"For god's sakes!" Jordan yelled, feeling her frustration rise to its breaking point. She had been trying to establish a connection, work on locating JD, but her thoughts had been clouded by the past. The warehouse was rich in history, its current state but an echo of its true potential. She couldn't deny that she was interested in it, but now wasn't the time to be ogling men from the 1930s. _They're all dead now, anyway, or resemble something close to a human prune, _she thought trivially.

_Not that I care._

"Do you know where he is yet?" Jack asked, almost jumping out of his seat. She resisted the urge to smile at her teenage son, having gotten used to the uncanny feelings he stirred in her long ago, but not enough to be able to block them out completely. Jack had immediately been excited when she announced that she'd use her gift to find JD. The teenager was itching to move—to spring into action and take the world by storm.

Jack was much like his father in that respect, Jordan thought... the same man who was now pacing the length of the room with his hands interlaced behind his head—a sure sign that he was worried. Had she been less unusual, she probably would have felt the first stirrings of jealousy, but Jordan honestly didn't care—nor understand—her husband's affinity for the young, dark-haired doctor who plagued her visions.

She considered the irony of that statement. The one time she actually _wanted_ to find DJ, he remained relentless.

_Of course,_ she thought,_ he could be unconscious. Or dead._

But no. If he was dead, she would be sure to know about it. She didn't have any jacked-up connection to him or anything, but she could sense the change in the wind when the world changed directions in its path towards completion. Right now, that completion was hanging dangerously on a single thread—if it fell, so did they. The world, human kind, everything.

She wished she was exaggerating.

While Jordan had withdrawn inwards into her thoughts, Perry thrust his frustrations outward.

"If we don't find Jillian soon, consider us dead, Jordan," He hissed vehemently, unable to keep the seething tone out of his voice.

Instead of offering a sharp retort to his brutal reminder, Jordan fell uncharacteristically quiet. She focused her mind, letting everything be as it was._ Focus..._

"Mom, do you—"

"Shh."

The minutes passed by slowly. Jack fondled the speakerphone on the table and Perry stared blankly at the wall on the other side of the room while Jordan called upon her ability. The images were fragmented—incomplete—but still there. She resisted the urge to breath a sigh of relief, knowing that if she did, she'd break the connection, and she didn't have the answers she needed just yet. Still, the fact that she was seeing anything meant that DJ was still alive somewhere. Probably unconscious and severely injured, but alive. The events began falling into place, filling her mind one by one as she followed the silver thread towards its destination—unwilling and unable to stop it as it thrust her forward, like a child flying down a slide.

And then the answer came to her. She stood, the chair behind her hitting the ground with a resounding crash. Perry and Jack looked up at precisely the same time, wearing identical expressions.

But Jordan payed them no mind. She gritted her teeth, suddenly feeling extremely stupid in the wake of the knowledge that flooded through her.

"Why didn't I think of it before?" Jordan asked, speaking to no one in particular.

Perry's deadpan expression had since then contorted into an alert, wary stare as he regarded her. Seeing no hint of true alarm across her face, he released the tension in his tall frame.

"Where is he, Mom?" Jack asked, unable to hold in the question for any longer.

This time, nobody silenced him. Perry remained silent, waiting for the answer himself, but instead of delivering the news in a sombre and serious manner, Jordan shot them both an amused grin.

"Where do you think?"

* * *

The world gyrated violently in front of JD's eyes, alternating between complete darkness and a severe, white light. His heart pounded loudly in his chest as a barrage of emotions crept up on him—apprehension, fear, surprise and crippling pain. JD couldn't remember the last time he'd been so scared and he didn't want to, either. He had no idea where he was, not even any sense of the word. All he knew was that he was moving, but not of his own accord.

Someone—or some_thing_—was moving him.

A loud bang broke through the proverbial silence that clouded his thoughts as he slammed through a pair of doors that parted before him. Suddenly, there was heightened chatter as people surrounded him, barking out orders as they moved down the hall.

And in that moment, JD realised where he was.

His body crumpled in relief.

_Hospital,_ he thought with a weary smile. _I'm at a hospital..._

It wasn't just any hospital, either. Even through the haze of the pain he felt, the voices that called out to him as he was brought past the nurse's station and down the hall were all too familiar to him.

"Holy frick, JD!" A voice called, high-pitched and female—_Elliot_. JD's immediate reaction was to reach out for his blonde co-worker, but she was pulled out of his reach by another.

Carla's voice was muffled, probably by the hand she had clamped down around her mouth upon seeing him. _"Bambi?"_ She gasped. JD shifted his attention, but found himself unable to speak as someone placed an oxygen mask over his face.

He breathed in, deeply, and the world slowed.

Relief coursed through his veins—cold and relaxing. He wasn't sure if it was from the realisation that he was at Sacred Heart, or the fact that he had just been put on pain medication, but JD guessed that it was a combination of the two. Still, not even the calm, quick and professional voices he could hear through the haze of the pain could relax him completely. In fact, he was pretty sure that the honour was reserved for one person, and one person alone...

"What have we got?" A familiar, gruff voice asked the doctors pushing him into an empty room. The voice was painfully recognisable, and JD strained to hear it. The newcomer waited for the team to reply, but before they could utter a single word, his eyes fell on JD and, for the first time, managed to process who it was being carried on the gurney. When he next spoke, it came out with a note of surprise: "Jocelyn?"

JD could only blink dumbly, watching the blurry form of Doctor Perry Cox swim before him until, a moment later, he disappeared from his line of sight. The dark-haired doctor felt tension rising to his chest and craned his head to find his mentor, to no avail. Before his fear could rise all the way to his throat, however, a large hand landed on his shoulder and that deep voice whispered in his ear. "You'll be fine, Newbie. You're being treated by the best."

Any illusion of gentleness from the older doctor was shattered a moment later when Doctor Cox bellowed: "Get to work, you idiots!"

While there was a collective frown shared on all of the doctor's faces, JD smiled. He was glad for Doctor Cox's constant badgering for one of the most peculiar reasons.

_At least something is normal in a world going to hell,_ he thought as he drifted off—Doctor Cox's face the last thing he saw before all consciousness left him.

* * *

When JD next woke, a very different face was staring back at him. Reality fell like a ton of bricks, crashing down around his feet. This time, when he came to, he immediately realised where he was—namely, sitting in a hospital bed at Sacred Heart, connected to a monitor and an IV drip, wearing a thin gown and a slight grimace. Having seen the patient room day in and day out, JD's eyes quickly became glued to something he _didn't_ see everyday, in the form of Jordan Sullivan sitting beside his bed in a tawny chair, reading a tattered copy of Penthouse with vivid interest. JD cleared his throat. From her place adjacent to his bed, Jordan looked up.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." She greeted him dismissively; smirking at him for only a brief moment before her eyes once again became focused on the magazine in front of her. JD just sat there, watching her read, unable to think of anything to say or do. Jordan didn't seem to care or notice the awkwardness in the quietude. In fact, she seemed to prefer it. When JD shifted the sheets uncomfortably, she peered over the top of her magazine to stare at him.

"Got something to say, Sally?" She asked. JD shook his head, averting his eyes to his hands.

Something about the action, however, seemed to encourage her to act. She tossed the magazine to one side uncaringly and focused her attention on him. It was, if possible, even more awkward than before.

After less than half a minute of being stared down, JD broke. "What do you want me to say?" He asked, a harsh note in his voice he wished he'd repressed.

Jordan either didn't notice the tone of his voice, or just wasn't angered by it because she didn't rise to the challenge the words presented. Instead, she crossed her legs neatly, now wearing a pair of dark, pinstripe pants to match her suit. It was only then that JD noticed it was morning and that he had undoubtedly slept for most of the night in the hospital. _How disorientating,_ he thought. _I don't even know what day it is._

"Why did you run?" Jordan asked after a long moment. JD didn't know how to reply—he wasn't sure if she was irritated with him or simply curious. Her face revealed no secrets as she stared back at him expressionlessly.

JD was indignant. "I didn't run." Jordan raised her eyebrows and JD read the message loud and clear. She didn't believe him—he wasn't sure if he'd believe himself, either. So instead of following the path of persistence, he decided to tell her the truth.

"I didn't run," he repeated, straightening himself against the bed, "but I was thinking about it."

Jordan seemed to be impressed by his honesty, if the curt nod in his direction was any indication. Before she could speak, however, JD continued.

"Turk paged me, which is why I left, but I figured that if anything of what you said was real, you'd know where to find me," said JD, averting his eyes to the window on the far left. "I didn't arrive quite the way I'd planned to, but I'm here now." The last part was said to be a joke, but Jordan simply nodded in all seriousness. JD frowned, feeling unnerved by her behaviour. He'd seen her angry, snarky, sad and more than a little frustrated but stone cold serious? Never.

_There's a lot about her I don't know,_ he considered._ Like her part in this, for example._

"What do you think now?" Jordan asked after long last, her angular features deadpan.

JD answered honestly. "I don't know."

Jordan seemed to be expecting this answer. "Then let me tell you something, DJ, which will change your perspective."

She shifted in her seat so her body was tilted towards the bed. JD resisted the urge to swallow from the fear that she'd use some sort of Godzilla mind power on him. It was her middle name, after all (or so Doctor Cox had told him). Unable to stop himself, though every alarm bell in his head was ringing, JD drifted off into a vivid fantasy of his idea of Jordan's rampage. He came out of it a moment later, howling: "I will never succumb to your evil, telemarketer ways!"

Jordan rolled her eyes. "You really need to get out more, Huckleberry," was all she said in response. JD just nodded at the sad fact that she was probably right.

The atmosphere sobered, so much so that JD was half-convinced that Jordan was going to darken the lights and bring a flashlight to her face. Instead, she simply stated: "I have seen everything—from the beginning of time to the end of it, and all of the stuff in between. I know what has happened, and what will happen, and while there are a lot of things I can't tell you—and some that I won't—I will tell you this. They are not lying, and neither am I. I honestly don't care if you don't believe me or Perry or even Jack, DJ, because hell, sometimes I don't believe it either. But what you'll have to believe are the facts. And the cold, hard truth, Princess? Perry and Jack aren't the first to come back. There are others, and they are evil, and—"

JD locked eyes with her then, finishing her sentence. "And they're after me."

Jordan simply nodded, saying nothing but telling him everything from what he saw in her eyes. It was that look—that utterly serious, stone cold look—that did him in. Whatever was happening, whatever he said or did or believed, he knew he couldn't call her a liar—because if anything, she certainly believed in what she was saying. And as the pieces of the puzzle began falling into place before his very eyes, JD realised he was starting to believe it too.

"That's how they knew my name, then," JD said after a moment, "Daniel and Patrick Knott, I mean."

Jordan's eyes narrowed in recognition. She nodded. "They were the first."

"You mean there will be more?" JD asked, slightly shell-shocked, though he really shouldn't have been surprised. If this was as big as everyone was hinting to, they wouldn't send only two men... whoever _they_ were.

Before the questions could spill from JD's lips, however, Jordan cut to the chase. "I don't expect you to believe this all right away, nobody does, but if you promise to come back with me, after what Stick told me was only an overnight stay, we'll explain everything." JD was about to babble out something that not even he remembered when something in her sentence stopped him in his tracks. Two things, actually, but one was more dominant than the other.

"What do you mean 'overnight stay'?" Was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

Jordan grinned at that, and JD began to see her normal self shining through the facade of seriousness she had worn throughout their conversation. "See for yourself," was all she said, however.

JD lifted the top of his gown to reveal the bandages wrapped around his chest. Slowly, he began to unravel the gauze—something he technically wasn't allowed to do, but something in Jordan's proposition had overstepped medical procedure. The bandages came off easily, but they lay forgotten in the wake of what JD saw when he looked down upon himself, and to his chest, which had previously been covered in thick, dark bruises.

The skin now, however, was spotless.

"Do you want to know why you fainted, Sweet Cheeks?" Jordan asked, amusement laced through her voice. JD nodded. "The drug Perry gave you when you first came in wasn't your normal hospital medication. Of all the things that fall in the future, the science of rapid tissue regeneration is not one of them. That drug—Protophen—circulates in your system for about twelve hours before it becomes active. When it does, you first experience what feels like a doubling of your physical pain before your body gets the message and begins to heal itself. It's also the reason why you never use the drug on the terminally ill—everything has its drawbacks."

"How do you know all this?" JD asked, surprised at her knowledge.

Jordan put her hands on her hips, looking indignant. "Did you skip the part where I told you I could see the future, or were you too busy ogling your floral nightgown to care?"

JD mumbled something that not even he could remember, but in the wake of another question, he forgot all about his resentment. "If everything has its drawbacks, what are the drawbacks of your visions?"

The question was said playfully, curiously, but JD realised a moment later that he'd hit a nerve when the smirk slid off of Jordan's face. She averted her eyes to the window, golden rays of sunlight hitting its solid glass and splintering into thin strips from the blinds that barricaded the inside of the room. Just when he thought he had offended her beyond repair, Jordan began to speak, slowly and softly. "When you can see everything that has ever happened, everything that is happening, and everything that will happen, the images have to go somewhere, don't they?" Before JD could reply, she continued, "I have already begun to systematically forget my childhood. My mother, father, Danni and Ben... my memories with them are fading. By the time I'm in my fifties, I would have forgotten that I'd even had a brother and a sister. When I'm older, I'll forget my own family, too."

"I—I'm sorry," JD whispered, unsure of what to say.

Jordan twisted around, her features twisting sharply. "I don't need your pity, DJ, and I sure as hell don't want it, either. What I do need, however, is an answer."

JD replied with the only thing he could think of, in that moment.

"Yes, anything."

Jordan nodded curtly, gathered herself and left without so much as a goodbye. Still, JD saw their conversation in a positive light. He'd seen a side of Jordan she had rarely let him see, but better yet, he had something to fight for and to work towards.

_She might not want my pity or my friendship, and I can't stop myself from giving it to her, but I'll do what I can. _

The dark-haired doctor sat back, and watched the sunlight filter in from the window with a smile. _I'll fight for you, Jordan, and you'll accept it..._

_...Though I know you'll never tell._

_I'm running you down,  
Well nothing feels right from up here.  
Inside out, I'm still unclear,  
About the things you might have said._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **I wasn't really that sure how to end this chapter, but since the last one ended on a bad note, I decided to take a spin in the other direction. I figured that JD was the sort of person to find the positives in every situation anyway, so no harm done. Please, please, _please_ tell me what you think—about the characters, the plot, the dialogue, the ideas... anything! I just need to know that I'm going in the right direction here. As for everyone who reviewed the previous chapter, I give my heartfelt thanks. Without you, this'd still be incomplete, but I felt I owed you the resolution to last chapter's cliff-hanger, since you asked so nicely. ;)

-- _Exangeline._


	7. The Stranger

**DISCLAIMER:** Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot, because whenever I go into Sci-Fi, it always turns out a little Stargate-like. Lyrics are again provided by the fantastic Coheed and Cambria. I really suggest you download this song of theirs in particular ("In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3"). It's absolutely amazing.

**AUTHORS NOTE:** The last chapter of Part I has arrived. As such, the next chapter will be an interlude. Throughout the duration of the story, there will be at least four—each outlining the feelings of the main characters (Jordan, Perry, Jack, JD). I've already figured out that this first one will be in Jordan's perspective, but what I don't know is what you want me to write about. Do you want to know about the origins of her gift, when she first realized it? Or do you want more of the future to be revealed. It's honestly your choice—I can write either, but I need to know. Future or past? It's your call. Otherwise, enjoy Chapter VI. Part II will begin soon.

Lyrics adapted from the song _In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3_ by Coheed and Cambria.

* * *

**CHAPTER VI: THE STRANGER**

_A broad incision sits across the evening,__  
A victim to our father's lost war—__  
The restless children sit and mourn the graves,__  
Of those they've never seen before..._

Argyle Cox sat behind his desk, fingers interlaced under his chin as his blue-eyed gaze bore into the canvas painting across the room. His mind was in deep contemplation of the next day's events—he would be leaving for Sacramento, California tomorrow, and although it was only an hour's trip for a few days away, the preparations that preceded this appointment made it seem like he was going for a year. Still, his shortcomings as an uncle made him ready to act. It took a lot for Perry to send someone—Jordan Sullivan, no less—to speak with him, and although he had a distinct sense that all was not as it seemed, he owed his nephew. _For everything I did,_ he thought enigmatically. _And everything I didn't do._

"Sir?" A voice called from the door, jolting Argyle out of his thoughts.

He looked up to see a tall, dark-skinned man standing in the threshold of his office door, a wicked grin across his angular face, which was framed by a short mop of dreadlocked black hair. His calculating brown eyes bore into Argyle's, a stark reminder of why he had hired the man—most people believed it was for his charm, but Argyle knew it was for his intelligence. Of all the clean-cut Ivy League graduates, the eccentric Keith Neaylon was both more brilliant, and more appealing to take on as his assistant. His colleagues had belittled his choice, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They worked efficiently, with no facades, secrets or lies. In a world where the truth was hidden between layers of society's tangled web, trust was a necessity.

He beckoned him in.

"Everything is in order, sir. But I still don't understand why you have to leave so abruptly," Keith began, completely unafraid of the fact that he had just talked down to his superior. Honesty was appreciated, and Keith was never in short supply of it.

Another reason why Argyle had chosen him was his inquisitiveness. Some people would rather their assistant's turn the other cheek when it came to their strictly off-the-record dealings. Argyle didn't care much for them, and the consequences of being caught remained the same, regardless of who was involved. Bringing himself back to the matter at hand, the older man simply responded with: "I am anxious to see my nephew. It's been far too long."

"This is Percival, then, sir? Not your older brother's child?" Keith asked. "You told me he was a doctor, so what use would he have for—"

Argyle raised a hand, cutting Keith off mid-sentence. "I don't know," he replied, honestly. "But part of why I accepted the deal was to find that out. Perry is a good man, and I trust him, even though he cannot say the same for me."

"I understand, sir."

"Stop calling me sir, Keith. It makes me feel like a senior citizen, or one of those chief executives who spend majority of their lives making investments from the comfort of their leather chairs," Argyle asserted, standing abruptly. He walked around the desk, resting a hand on Keith's shoulder—regardless of the fact that the other man was at least a head or two taller than him—while leading him out of the room. "I am a man of action, a man of pride. Call me by my title, if nothing else, Keith."

Keith's wicked smile returned on his face, amusement lighting his dark eyes. "Very well then, General."

Argyle shut the door behind him, averting his eyes to the canvas painting he'd been staring at for the better half of the day. In one, swift movement, he removed the painting to reveal the metal safe behind it. Spinning the dial to the appropriate code, Argyle swung the door open and withdrew its contents. Casting his eyes down to the object in his hands, the older man frowned.

"I truly do not know what you need this for, Perry, or why you sent Jordan Sullivan of all people to get it," he whispered, speaking to no one in particular. "But I _will_ find out."

* * *

At that very moment, sitting slumped in his hospital bed, JD realized something that very suddenly changed his entire perspective. As Carla and Elliot chatted away at the foot of his bed and Turk was telling him a story about an appendectomy gone wrong, JD realized very quickly that this was knowledge he couldn't possibly keep to himself. After all the things he couldn't understand and all the things he couldn't possibly reveal, this was the final straw.

"Being a patient sucks," he whimpered.

Turk just grimaced. "Being my appendectomy patient would suck even more, dude."

JD honestly couldn't think up an argument to that, if Turk's story was any indication, so he simply fell into silence as everyone in the room returned to their conversations. Turk's story was just about coming to a close, his patient hanging on life and death when suddenly the door swung open and a blur of white, blue and auburn flew into the room. Stopping at the foot of JD's bed, tapping his nose and crossing his arms over his chest, Doctor Cox stared them all down, one by one, until his eyes finally rested on JD's. Without breaking the stare, the older doctor grabbed the chart from the end of his bed, flung it into the air and caught it with his other hand. He glanced down at the words written across the page in Elliot's cursive scrawl.

Then he looked back to JD.

"Looks like you're good to go, Newbie," was all he said. JD blinked, surprised—not by his diagnosis, as Jordan had already explained the truth about the sudden disappearing of the scars across his torso and the throbbing of his head, but about the lack of anger in his voice. Instead of sounding frustrated and sarcastic like he normally did, Doctor Cox sounded . . . tired? But why? Even after a 20-hour shift, his mentor still managed to retain at least some of the sarcasm in his voice.

_He was worried about you,_ a small voice in his mind interrupted. _Everyone was._

JD was about to dismiss this thought, until his mind got the better of him and his eyes scanned the room. Ever so often—in what seemed like five second intervals—someone's eyes would flicker back to his. _Wow, _he thought. _They really _were_ worried about me._

But Carla, apparently, wasn't finished worrying yet, if the stance she took against Doctor Cox's diagnosis was any indication.

"Oh no, no, no," she began, waving a finger in Doctor Cox's direction, the curly-headed doctor simply staring in surprise. "There is no way you're discharging Bambi, not after last night."

Turk and JD wore identical looks of confusion, while Elliot simply nodded. Doctor Cox let out a carnal growl, but made no rebuttal. Nobody else spoke, but just when Carla was about to deem this case closed, JD piqued up—the image of Jordan flashing through his mind as he remembered their conversation and the agreement that followed. "What happened last night?" He asked, truly having no idea what they were talking about. All he knew was that it was hindering his discharge, and he couldn't have that, not after all he had promised.

"You had a seizure, Bambi," Carla said, her voice changing from stern to mothering in less than half a second. It was just as JD was marveling the change that he actually processed what she had said.

"Wait—_what?_" He said, swiveling around to face Doctor Cox. When nobody else spoke, he turned back around towards Carla. "How did it happen... and why can't I remember it?"

Surprisingly, it was Elliot who spoke, after being unusually subdued for most of the conversation. She sat on the end of his bed, placing a hand over his with one of the softest expressions he had ever seen cross over her face. Her hair made a blonde halo around her head and JD blinked in surprise. She looked beautiful.

What she said, however, was anything but.

"You were in so much pain, JD," said Elliot as she began to rub comforting circles into the palm of his hand. "We had no idea where it was coming from. You had a few cuts and bruises, but that was about it."

"A-And then what?" JD didn't know why he was stuttering—from the news, or from the feeling of Elliot's fingertips brushing across his skin.

"Then... nothing. It was like whatever was causing you to react in such a way just disappeared." Elliot's voice had adapted a tone of wonder as she spoke, and JD was in the same mindset, until something Jordan said came swimming back to him.

Under his breath, he murmured. "Protophen."

Everyone's attention shifted to him. "What?" Doctor Cox asked, returning to the conversation. JD thought long and hard about what Jordan had said and despite how much he wished to tell his friends about the supposed 'miracle drug' and ease their fear of him keeling over again, he couldn't. There was absolutely nothing he could say, and it was killing him—he had nobody to talk to about it. Or, at least, nobody from this time. He supposed he could ask Jordan, but he wasn't sure if he could confide in her yet. _Then again,_ he thought,_ she probably already knows._

It was a dilemma, to say the least.

So instead of telling all, JD simply replied with a soft: "Never mind." They all seemed ready to rebut, when a sharp knock at the door interrupted them. _Thank god,_ JD thought, especially as it was Jordan who graced the scene—still dressed in her pinstripe dress suit and looking as angularly beautiful as ever. Next to Elliot, it was like he was seeing opposites.

As she sauntered in, Jordan seemed to ignore everyone else in the room, including Doctor Cox—an action JD wasn't sure was such a wise thing to do. Instead of offering a greeting, she simply asked: "You ready to get out of here, DJ?"

JD felt torn between agreeing and disagreeing—he knew how urgent it was that he go with Jordan, especially if it was his life and the life of his friends in danger if he didn't. But he didn't want to demean Carla's concerns, or that of any of his other friends. If he left now, they might think he believed their opinions didn't matter, which was anything but the truth.

Weighing his choices and the ramifications stemming from both, he decided that finding out what was going on was far more important than staying in a hospital bed for another day or two, when he knew he was perfectly fine. He'd have ample time to apologize later, when the risk factor had lowered.

So, with a wary glance towards everyone else, gauging their reactions, JD nodded.

"Then hurry up and get dressed, Sally." Jordan demanded, arms crossed over her chest. "I don't like to be kept waiting."

_Definitely not,_ JD thought feverishly. All remnants of the former seriousness on Jordan's face had disappeared, replaced with her usual smirk. He felt her eyes bore into his back as he retreated to the bathroom—as well as everyone else's in the room. _So much for being discreet, Jordan,_ he thought silently to her, as he swiftly changed into a new pair of jeans Turk had brought over from his apartment. As he struggled into a t-shirt, feeling more than a little unnerved by the lack of pain in his chest or the throbbing in his head that had become a constant, JD strained his ears to listen to the conversation outside, but heard nothing.

He emerged from the bathroom a moment later to find everyone standing in a sort of awkward silence. The moment she saw him exit the lavatory, Jordan grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him towards the door. JD barely had time to turn around and wave before he was pulled round a corner and the room disappeared from sight.

While JD was being carted off to the front of the hospital by a very quick-paced Jordan Sullivan—_man she walks fast in those heels_—Elliot turned to Carla and, with a slight giggle, asserted: "I can't say I'm surprised." Carla nodded in response, Turk just sat there, confused, and Doctor Cox spun on his heel to face her.

"What are you talking about, Barbie?"

"Jordan's been sitting beside JD's bedside for the better part of the morning," Carla replied, her expression contemplative. Elliot seemed to fall into the same mindset, as she was the next to speak.

"I can't remember seeing her here, but she came up to me while I was at the nurse's station to ask how long he'd have to stay for—"

The rest of Elliot's story was cut off by a growl emanating from deep within Doctor Cox's throat before he gave them all a long, sweeping glare before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Turk and Elliot shrugged before discussing something to do with lunch, but Carla continued to watch the older doctor's retreating back as he sauntered down the hall. She thought of the ramifications of their gossiping and frowned. _Bambi wouldn't do that,_ she thought,_ he worships Doctor Cox, definitely more than he should. _

Still, every single one of her instincts were telling her the exact same thing. _Figure this out._

So, leaving her best friend and her husband to chat in the now empty patient's room, Carla left to find some work to do, all the while formulating the perfect plan within her mind to get to the bottom of all that was happening.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, JD found himself in the confines of the same warehouse he felt like he had only just left. The hallways were dark, lit only by dull lights that flickered overhead. The constant flashing was distracting, the light and the dark playing tricks on JD's mind, but it wasn't long before Jordan took charge. She pulled him into a room on the right, through a large metal door and into the main hangar, but instead of seeing an empty room, the warehouse was full of machinery. A massive, spherical object stood in the middle of the room, easily weighing the size of a Double Decker bus or three. It was suspended in the air by a dozen thin, metal rods that scientifically shouldn't have been able to hold its weight. However, they seemed rather intent on doing just that—the large sphere did not waver, and the steel did not shake. Though it defined everything he knew about science, JD simply accepted that somehow, in some way, this machine was airborne.

The rest of the room was less impressive, but still rather shocking to JD. After all, the last time he had been there, the room was completely empty sans hospital bed and table. Cables ran across the room, plugging into various power outlets. Monitors sat upright on two long tables, the type you saw in the meeting rooms of big companies. Each monitor displayed a different image or program and all of them looked incredibly high-tech.

Sitting in a swivel chair, one in front of each table, were Perry and Jack. Without saying a word, Jordan handed JD her cell phone. "Go ahead, DJ."

Punching in the numbers to Sacred Heart's main desk, JD waited for one of the nurses to pick up the phone. "Thank you for calling Sacred Heart Hospital, this is Carla speaking—how may I help you?"

JD smiled at the sound of his friend's voice through the phone. "Hey Carla. It's JD."

"Bambi?" Came the reply. JD was about to nod, quite idiotically, before he realized she had no way of seeing him do so.

"Can I speak to Doctor Cox, please?"

Carla didn't respond. In the background, he could hear the familiar sound of one of his mentor's rants as he yelled at whatever poor intern he had in his midst. "Now's not a good time, JD."

"Okay," he said, "I guess I'll talk to him later." Once he had hung up, he turned to Jordan and said, sheepishly. "I've heard enough."

Jordan nodded, taking the phone from him. Jack typed away at a wireless keyboard set out in the middle of the table he was stationed at—a keyboard that seemed to control all five or so computers at once. JD ogled the technology, barely even noticing how awkward everything had gotten until he turned and asked: "So you're the real deal, huh?"

From his place at the desk, Jack grinned and swiveled around to face him. "I knew you'd come around." JD didn't have time to respond before Jack leapt from the chair to hug him. Doctor Cox looked horrified at this turn of events but Jordan had a smug smile across her face.

Just as JD thought he would explode, Perry rolled his eyes. "You've just made a friend for life, Newbie." Both JD and Perry seemed to make the same observation—that Jack seemed reminiscent of JD more than he did his real father, which led to JD wondering how close he and Doctor Cox really were in the future. He was just about to ask when something about Perry's statement stopped him in his tracks. _Why did he call me—_

_Aw crap._

JD sighed, though it was devoid of any real dejection. "I really am a Newbie again, aren't I?"

"You better believe it, Clara," Jack replied, taking the words right out of Perry's mouth. _I take that back, then_, JD thought, _he really _is_ Doctor Cox's son._

To them, he simply said: "Some things never change."

"But other things do," Jordan begun, her voice a reminder of the seriousness of the situation. "I think its time we had this talk—for real, this time."

"Sounds like a good idea," JD agreed. Perry nodded. Both he and Jack stood, escorting JD and Jordan out of the room and towards the hallway. JD felt himself becoming both anxious and excited to have his questions answered—excited because the future seemed amazing, if the machinery in the place was any indication, but he was anxious because it would take something really, really serious for them to come back and change it. That was what they were doing, after all, wasn't it? The young doctor tried to focus on which of the questions he'd ask first, but whenever he thought of one, something more urgent would take its place. He had so many things to learn—so many things he needed to know, but more that he wanted to know. By the time they hard reached the exit of the warehouse, he was almost exploding with apprehension. _Almost there..._

Of course, they never made it that far.

A loud explosion sounded, like light night crashing against the sky. At first, JD had no idea as to what it could be, until his memories took him back to the day before this one, lying in the hospital parking lot before a similar crack had sounded. _Gunfire._

What happened next was nothing short of amazing. One moment, they were walking towards the entrance in a loose formation and the next—he was surrounded. Perry was directly in front of him, his hand flying to something underneath his belt. JD was confused for a moment until it hit him—_he was drawing his gun._ Jordan had no such weapon, but her fingernails still bit into his arm as she flanked his right, keeping him close to her. Jack was on the left, also without a weapon, but a look of solid determination stretching across his youthful face. JD felt a sudden rise of appreciation, of gratitude and of amazement. That they'd go so far to protect him—and on instinct, too, was simply...

_Wow,_ was all JD could think of. _That's loyalty._ Truth was, JD knew that deep down that he didn't know the half of it. All the things they had to tell, all the things that had happened that he had yet to know about—he could feel the weight and significance of that as he marveled at the lengths they would go to to keep him safe. He spared a brief thought for his current relationship with the Sullivan-Cox family and he couldn't help but wonder how they had been brought together so closely.

_What happened to bring about so much change? _And then... _Do I really want to know?_

All sentimental thoughts left his mind when they reached the hallway. "Whoever they are, they've come through the secondary hangar," Perry said, keeping his eyes glued on the door to the left. JD didn't even know that the warehouse had a secondary hangar, and he added it to the rapidly growing list he had of things he had learnt that morning. _I hope I'll have a chance to make it even longer,_ he considered._ If we make it out of this, that is._

But Perry, Jordan and Jack made no indication that they were going to give up without a fight. If anything, their resolve was strengthened. "Jordan, stay with JD. Jack, take the extra gun from my holster. We'll go through the back entrance."

He muttered something, seemingly into the side of his gun, which sounded strangely like the word: "_Grenade._" JD must have been imagining things, though, because he clearly had no grenades on him. Still, the strangest thing occurred—a shrill whirl was emitted from the gun in Doctor Cox's hand, as if the turbines within the weapon were twisting and gyrating to suit his request. Somehow, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, Doctor Cox turned to him.

"You heard me right, Newbie," he said, craning his head to smirk at JD. The overhead lights hit the anti-flash lenses of his glasses, once again shielding his eyes from view. "You do na-_hot _want to be on the receiving end of this."

Jack released a small snigger as he looked up at his father. Perry returned the gaze, barely a second passing as both of them nodded in harmonization before advancing down the hall. In moments, they were gone, leaving JD and Jordan to stare in the direction they had walked towards. "Come on," Jordan said, voice sounding softer than he had ever heard before as she guided him down the opposite end of the walkway. "Let's go."

They walked back towards the main hangar after a brief moment of indecision, wherein Jordan seemed to want to lock him in a small office room on the other side of the warehouse. Looming footsteps, however, stopped their approach and led them into the vast room, the spherical machine still suspended in the air. JD ran through the threshold, the large metal door thumping against the outer wall. Jordan followed shortly after, her heels clacking against the cold, concrete floor. _Such a short time,_ he considered,_ and so much has changed . . . _He watched Jordan approach the machines in the middle of the room, typing something into the computer. The monitors responded accordingly, and while JD couldn't understand a single word of the programming language that flashed across the surface, it sure seemed like Jordan did. _Oh, right,_ he thought, remembering her words earlier this morning. _If she knows medical science, then I guess she knows the others, too._

But before he even began to contemplate how awesome it would be to have such a gift, he remembered the dire consequences. _Maybe it's not so cool after all._ To lose his memories, his childhood... he couldn't comprehend it. He might not have had the happiest life to begin with, but he wouldn't trade those memories for the world. They made him who he was, as Jordan's made her, her.

"Where the hell is frontline defense?" She hissed angrily, typing one last line of programming code before shutting off whatever she was doing. Jordan motioned for JD to stay where he was—finally, something he could understand—while she walked towards the entrance of the hangar. He figured she was going to provide some sort of back up to Perry and Jack, or perhaps survey the area but it turned out she managed to do neither as before she reached the entrance, the door swung open.

The butt end of a gun smacked her across the head barely a split second later. Jordan fell to the floor with a loud _thump._

_Oh god..._

The figure that entered the hangar was clad entirely in black. JD was positive he had never seen the man before in his life, but that hardly mattered when the man raised his gun to JD's head. Time seemed to slow as JD saw past the barrel and into the man's eyes. They were hardened—so brown they were almost black, glaring at him with a hate he had never before seen directed towards him in his life. JD's body was completely rooted to the spot—he couldn't have moved if he wanted to and in that moment, remaining immobile seemed to be the best choice. _Lest this man shoot me in the head..._

Just as the fear began to rise to his throat after swelling deeply within his chest, the threat that was presented so visibly before him faltered as another, resounding crack filled the air. The man fell to the floor, blood pooling from a wound in his chest.

JD spun.

And his jaw dropped.

"Hey, JD," Ben Sullivan said, gripping his P-90 tighter in his hands. "Long time no see."

_Will I be buried here among the dead—__  
In the silent secret?_

**END PART I OF MY TRIGGER**

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Considering that oh-so-pretty cliffhanger, I'm pretty sure most of you would like to kill me right now. I, myself, am quite ecstatic about this turn of events. I mean, hell, I just finished the entire first part while retaining something that resembles a deadline. This is big news for me, since I've been known to never stick to anything ever. It's actually thanks to all of the amazing reviews I get for this story, so everyone who has provided feedback—thank you so much! You're all such talented writers, and it makes me feel really honored to have you read this story. But I re-he-_heally_ want to know what you think about this chapter, so if you could drop a review, I will give you cyber cookies.

By the way, **a special thanks goes out to Bells of Tomorrow**, who unknowingly provided me with a way out of a whole lot of plot holes simply by mentioning Ben's name while I was writing Chapter III. True, Ben is na-_hot_ Argyle (still channeling Perry here), but it gave me a hell of an idea. So thanks so much, and for everyone who hasn't already, check out _My Captain._ Best. Story. Ever.

-- _Exangeline._


	8. — I: JORDAN —

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot, because whenever I go into Sci-Fi, it always turns out a little Stargate-like. But you've heard all of this before—I'm actually surprised anybody actually reads it. If I'm not just talking to myself, that is.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **I've only just realized—quite belatedly—that everyone is completely confused about what's happening in this story. Truth is, I never thought of it like that before, because I myself know the explanation for just about everything here. Still, the truth will be revealed soon enough, and the contents of the previous chapters will begin to make sense. I've decided to go with describing the origins of Jordan's gift, but there is a bit of the future tacked onto the end of this.

A precursor, of sorts, for the things that are to come. Enjoy.

* * *

**INTERLUDE I**

_If I had to pinpoint the worst time in my entire life, it was when I was seven. Everything I had ever thought as harsh or difficult paled in comparison to the events that occurred thereafter, and it is one of the things I will never forget. It's too horrible to forget—to real, to painful. I had learnt how to use my gift, to take advantage of what I saw, even with the consequences—but I never once anticipated the day it would fail me..._

"RUN!"

The word was ripped from his throat, exploding brutally out of his mouth. She stood there, unable to move, her eyes wide in abject horror as she watched him writhe in pain. Blood poured from the deep lacerations spanning the length of his chest, bathing his torso in a thick layer of red. After what felt like a small eternity of watching the blood fall from his wounds, she fell to her knees beside him, unable to muster the strength to fear for her own life.

He was disturbingly silent—all low grunts and soft whimpers. Still, whenever she heard a sound resonate from his clenched jaw and tightly-shut lips, she shuddered. So much blood, so much violence, so much _pain._

There wasn't anything she could do for him now, she knew. His lifeblood was leaving him too fast, seeping out of every wound, every pore. It kept coming and coming, like a tidal wave of crimson red that drowned everything it touched—because surely he was drowning, wasn't he? She was no doctor, but there were some things that people just knew, and she knew that his lungs had most probably collapsed and were filling with blood even now.

Tears stung at her eyes. She reached for his red-stained hand and held it between her own, decidedly not giving a damn whether she got her clothes soaked or her skin stained. She would do this, for him. She would be there.

"I'm so, so sorry," she breathed. Her vision swam before her as tears pooled at her eyes and cascaded down her face. They marked a trail down the length of her cheeks, so clear and crystalline in comparison to the thick redness that was spewing out of him. They were both broken—he physically, from wounds that could not be repaired, from a brutal fate that no one person could possibly wish on another while still remaining human. She was a different story. She was broken emotionally, her heart torn into pieces by the horror and carnage of what had occurred, equally as incurable, equally as futile a fate.

He tried to open his mouth to speak, to convey his last words, but all that came out was a terrifying gurgle as his mouth filled with blood. His body arched violently upward, bones cracking under the strain as something beyond his control lifted him forward and he vomited, the blood streaming from his mouth as he let out a ragged, heart-wrenching gasp. He slumped back onto the pavement, eyes wide and body limp but twitching—the only indication she had that he was alive, other than the blood flow and heavy, labored breathing. She sobbed, chest heaving as fresh tears made their way slowly down her swollen face.

_Why?_

She shut her eyes, unable to bear the sight of him any longer. When she shut them, though, her mind was filled with images of him. Of that devastating, terrifying moment he was struck, as his body crumpled to the ground, and of his concern for her—a girl he hardly knew—when he should have, for all intents and purposes, been looking out for himself. _He'd saved her life—the one time she hadn't been able to see what was coming._

Her hands still clenched his tightly as she tried to purge the thoughts from her memory, to no avail. She kept her eyes clenched shut and prayed to a god she didn't believe in that everything would be okay, even if it wasn't.

Even if it never would be.

She stayed with that delusion, right to the end, and dared not to open her eyes until she heard a haggard, broken whisper echo from shuddering lips:

"Run, Jordan," he breathed. "Run."

His body went limp. She stood and ran as fast as her shaking legs would take her before she collapsed and sobbed her heart out into the unrelenting tarmac.

_There are no right words to fill all the holes inside my head and there is nothing that can erase that ghost of a man from my memory. While everything else withers and dies, the memory of the day I killed someone—the day my gift failed me instead of the other way around—remains etched inside my mind forever. It was both a blessing and a curse, as it led me to what some people may call my destiny, and it led me to Perry, but it also destroyed my innocence. The future shifts with every single decision, every choice and every individual. One single thing can destroy that precarious balance between stability and chaos. One small, insignificant thing. On that day, it was the absence of premonition. On the next, it was something else._

_But stop staring at me like I am something to be pitied—I assure you, Rebecca, I am not. I don't need sympathy or a false sense of hope. I know there's only the slightest chance that anything we do will change what needs to be changed in order to allow us to see tomorrow. I'm not a moron, and I don't speak in riddles all to often. But being cryptic is a necessity and discretion is a must. Only so much is allowed to be revealed at a certain time, about the past, the present and the future. No one is supposed to know everything, and I understood that day that I wasn't the exception to the rule. However, there is nothing stopping me from telling you where this all began. _

_The first story I have ever told. _

* * *

"When you can see everything that has happened, and everything that will happen—what do you have to live for?"

_The statement was brought to my attention by my neurotic brother, Ben, back when we were kids and I asked him why he thought precognition was such a lousy gift. Despite how we turned out, we were pretty smart kids, so when I say _precognition_, I mean _precognition,_ none of this dancing around it like the other kids our age. We didn't call it_ seeing the future_ or_ knowing what happens before it happens_—we used the long words. The real words._

_Don't get your panties in a bunch, Sandra-Dee. We weren't prodigies or anything. Our father worked at a hospital which accounted for many late nights studying before he ditched his job for a placement on the board. I can't say I blame him—hell, I even took his job when he died. For the hell of it, mostly, but it pays good money. In a world where your periphery is screwed by the thousands upon thousands of social and economical rejections, money is your lifeline. As is knowledge._

_You could say I have both, in a way—from a source far endless than my father. I can't remember a lot about my childhood, for circumstances beyond simply forgetting, but there is one thing I will never allow myself to forget._

_My gift, and the first time I ever used it._

* * *

From the moment I had conscious thought, I began to see things other people did not. Events, people, places—I knew them all before I understood my first word. At a time where a child's dream usually consisted of a blur of colour here, and a soft whisper there, my dreams were filled with complex images of actions and reactions, decisions and consequences. I had absolutely no idea what they were, or their purpose, but they were there. I saw them, as easily as I saw the inside of my house, or my bedroom, or my father's lopsided grin when he scooped me up after coming home from work. I didn't think of them as something supernatural, or unreal, or different—they were there, and they were a part of me.

The first time I realized that I was, in fact, different from the other kids my age was when I was five. I saw my younger sister, Danni, falling down the stairs and skinning her knee—her face swam before my eyes as she sucked in a deep breath of air, preparing to scream. When the image faded, I pulled on my mother's trousers from my place on the floor and told her what I had seen. She raced to our room, only to find Danni content and asleep in her cot.

I got yelled at, that night, by an exasperated mother and a stupid, asshole uncle who thought he knew everything.

"Jordan!" My mother yelled. "Why would you do something like that?"

I remained silent, unable to understand what she meant. I _saw_ it happen, right in front of me, with my own two eyes—what more reason did I need?

"Answer your mother!"

"I-I saw it," I began, uncertain. Why didn't Mom understand? I didn't expect her to be able to comprehend the fact that I did see it, even from all the way in the kitchen, but I expected some acknowledgement, at least. "I saw Danni fall, and she hurt her knee, and she was crying." I explained as well as I could, but my mother just shook her head and sighed, sadly.

"Danni didn't fall, Jordan. You saw her, she was fine. I don't understand where this is coming from, I really don't, I—"

It was then that my mother was cut off by a high-pitched scream. Her and my uncle raced across the house towards the living room where, at the base of the stairs, Danni sat clutching her knee and sobbing loudly. I followed them, remaining completely still and silent at the door as my mother and step-father consoled her. My older brother, Ben, appeared from the kitchen to see what had happened.

I looked up at him, in hope he'd understand. "You saw it too, didn't you? Danni fall?" I asked, voice shaking. My mother had picked up Danni and was taking her to the bathroom, to wash the blood off her knee. My uncle turned at the sound of my voice, considered me and Ben for a moment, before shaking his head and following my mother into the bathroom.

I averted my eyes back to Ben just in time to see him shake his head. "Nope," he said in the easy, laid-back tone he adapted even as a kid. "I was in the kitchen—didn't see or hear a thing."

I frowned at that. "But I was in the kitchen when _I_ saw it."

Ben raised an eyebrow at me, dark hair falling into his eyes as he tilted his head down to meet mine. "Weren't you with Mom just a moment ago?"

"Yeah," I said, rolling my eyes. "But I didn't see it when I was with Mom just now, I saw it before."

My older brother just stared at me for a minute, before shrugging. "Whatever, Jorderooni." And according to him, that was that.

But to me, it wasn't, for it was then that I learnt the first lesson about my gift: only I had it. Well, as far as I knew, at least. In the years that followed, I learnt that there were millions of people who said they had the gift—but I still had yet to meet someone who wasn't lying through their teeth. I figured that people who actually had something close to the abilities I had would probably never admit that they had them.

Which brings me to the second thing I learnt about my gift on that day twenty-five years ago—it's better, in the long run, not to tell people what I see. At all.

I'm not saying my mother figured out that I had the ability to see such things. She probably thought it was a coincidence, as people often do when they're confronted by something not completely believable. Still, I had expected some type of acknowledgement of my ability—an explanation, perhaps? Adults were supposed to know everything, so why didn't my mother know this?

It occurred to me, later that night, that the reason my mother hadn't acknowledged what I saw was because she didn't see it. After all, if she did, she would have stopped it from happening, or at least explained it to me. After receiving awkward stares from my mom and uncle at dinner, my suspicions had been confirmed. As I receded back into my bedroom, the entirety of the situation hit me, and like the five year old I was, I began to cry.

I was different.

And even though I was only five, and couldn't possibly understand the effects my gift would have on me later in my life, I still understood that my gift wasn't something to be discussed. Not with anybody. Not ever.

People don't like things that are different. It scares them, takes them out of their element. For once, they're not in control, and the most pertinent thing I've learnt about people to date is that they can't live without exercising some sort of control over something. They need it—the importance, the power. Anyone I've ever known has had some form of control in their lives—for my mother, it was control over the house, to my step-father, it was control over me and my siblings...

And to me, it was control over what I saw.

But of course, I never got granted that one, small control. Like everything that had been stripped away from me through the years—my innocence, my happiness, my _memories_—my gift was out of my control. It was erratic, confusing and downright mysterious. I don't attempt to understand what my gift means, or why I have it, or even where it came from, but after learning that there was no possible way to have control over what I saw, I did the only thing I could.

I accepted it.

And I used it to my advantage.

* * *

_Twenty-five years later, here I am. Still tainted, still unhappy and still god-damn gifted. But it's my path, it's what I chose for myself. Everything I've seen has came true, in the end, and everything by ability has said I've done, I've done. But I've done it my way and so far, I've had control..._

_Not for long._

_For someone has interrupted the balance—that precarious line between chaos and stability. The future has fallen to one of the most terrifying attacks I have ever seen. And believe me, Sally, I've seen it all. Every conflict, every war, dating back before Christ. It's not possible to retain that much information, and things fade over time, but there is one thing I know for sure, and one thing I will never forget._

_Juvenile is coming._

_And if we don't stop it, the world will never be the same again._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Hope this clarifies things a little. To be honest, I could write an entire book about my AU Jordan's past and her future, because writing a character who has the ability to see everything opens possibilities that people have never really considered before. If this story ends up going anywhere, I might have to write a spin-off about the Cox family in the dystopian future. It'd probably be dead boring to read, but I'd have a blast writing it.

**EXTRA—**_**JORDAN'S PLAYLIST**_**: **I like music, I was bored. So sue me.

1. Astronaut (A Short History of Nearly Nothing) by Amanda Palmer.  
"_You may be acquainted with night, but I've seen the darkness in the day—and you must know it's a terrifying sight, because you and I are living the same way."_

2. Shiver by The Birthday Massacre.  
"_All the hands along the wall, taking time to break her fall. Minds divide the heart in two, empty as the shadows walking over you."_

3. Sally's Song by Amy Lee.  
"_I__ sense there's something in the wind that seems like tragedy's at hand, and though I'd like to stand by him, I can't shake this feeling that I have. The worst is just around the bend."_

That's all from me, but I can promise that the next interlude will be in Perry's perspective, and will most definitely involve a hell of a lot more to do with the future, as will the chapters to come. Ben, the attacking, Daniel Knott's mysterious death and JD's part in the story will be revealed, as will the answers to your questions. But on another note—I'm trying to get to at least 50 reviews. Wanna help me out? ;)

_--__ Exangeline._


	9. The Haunting

**DISCLAIMER:** Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot. Lyrics in this arc belong to the band Muse, who has been one of my most constant companions throughout these past few years.

**AUTHORS NOTE:** This chapter is mostly a filler—a prelude, of sorts, to the next, where all the heavy-duty explaining factors into it. I hope it's still entertaining, however, and that the pieces aren't too scattered. Sometimes I feel like one of my chapters is simply a bunch of scenes put together, and that it's not good enough to be posted by itself. But perhaps that's just me. It should be noticed, however, that I wrote this chapter while I was at work, which means I had limited time to review what I've written. I was far too excited to hold of posting it, so any typing mistakes or OOC-ness can be derived from that fact. So if you see anything, please tell me. I appreciate it. Otherwise, here's Chapter VII.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Apocalypse Please_ by Muse_._

* * *

**PART II—**_**JUVENILE.**_

**CHAPTER VII: THE HAUNTING**

_Declare this an emergency,  
Come on and spread a sense of urgency  
To pull us through._

"There's no time for questions, JD," Ben—or this man before him that somehow resembled Ben—said. JD was about to protest, to ask what the hell was going on anyway, but it was then that he heard the loud _thump_ of footsteps down the hall, heading towards the main hangar. Towards them. _There are more of them coming,_ his mind registered. _We're as good as dead._

Just as JD was starting to think that he had been replaced with some artificial, alien copy of himself due to the lack of freaking out about the prospect of death, the familiar tendrils of fear struck him. _There we go,_ he thought. _At least now I'm reacting somewhat close to normal._ Be it the constant threat of sudden death that had fallen upon him in the past couple of days, or simply a numbing sense of panic, but despite the fear that rose up his chest and lodged in his throat, JD felt an odd sense of calm. _Perhaps I'm not so normal, then._

His mind dwelled on this prospect as he imagined the various triggers for his abnormalities, centering in on the theory that Elliot was actually some sort of assassin from an alternate reality. _That'd never happen,_ he thought, until he remembered that just five minutes ago he had been talking to the future counterpart of his hell-raising mentor, who wielded a gun that could shoot grenades at people and had an ex-wife who had somehow managed to predict the future from the age of five. So perhaps it wasn't too unlikely that Elliot was a reality-hopping assassin who had probably gone senile from her discovery of how much hotter JD was in this reality than the one she left. Oblivious to the turmoil around him, at least for a few precious seconds, JD came out of his fantasy in his usual contemplative manner.

"It sure would explain the toilet rule," he reasoned.

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder, causing JD to snap out of his daydream—or the lingering aftereffects of it, at least. He turned to see Ben staring down at him with a small frown, an expression that looked out of place on his usually smiling face. JD was about to ask him what was wrong, until it all came flooding back to him. _Ben was dead._

So how was he here?

"You alright, buddy?" Ben asked as JD identified that foreign look in the other man's vibrant blue eyes as concern. For him. Still, his mind was stuck on '_what the hell?'_

But it seemed that no matter how many times he asked this, or how many different people he spoke to, the answer remained the same. Powerful, awkward silence. So to Ben, he simply said, "I'm fine." He really was, actually, if not a little freaked out. He told Ben as much and the other man nodded, then handed something to him.

"What's this?" JD asked, staring down at the metal contraption in his hands. Seeing, but not understanding. He knew what it was, what it could do, but why was it being given to _him_?

"It's your gun, of course. Load it. We have work to do." Ben continued to speak, but JD found himself stuck as he fondled the gun in his hand, staring at it in shock.

_My gun?_

And just like that, reality crept up on him.

Oh.

_Shit._

The gun fell to the floor with a sharp _clack_, but JD didn't notice it and didn't much care about anything except getting as far away from the offending piece of metal as possible.

All the panic, all the fear and all the impossibilities came swarming down on the young doctor's mind right then. Suddenly every second of the numbness he had felt for the past few days was payed back in full by a flood of emotion that threatened to tear him from the inside out. _Oh. My. God. We're going to die._ His breath came out in short, labored pants as the panic rose to his throat and stayed there, a constant in the midst of the turmoil that had become him. Chaos. Instability. Death. It suddenly seemed all too real to contemplate. _I've been _targeted_. They want to _kill me_._

And finally...

_What did I do to deserve all of this?_

"JD? _JD?_" Ben replaced his hand on the younger man's shoulder, his other securing JD's forearm as he led him towards a seat in the middle of the room. "We don't have a lot of time. Everything will be alright, but you have to get a hold of yourself." It occurred to JD right then, as his emotions continued to compromise him, that seriousness really didn't suit Ben Sullivan. He'd much rather the happy-go-lucky man he had known beforehand—the same one that both intrigued him and freaked him out at the same time. He wished for anything to go back to those days.

Those days when things were simpler. Those days when he wasn't being thrown into scenes of spontaneous violence, or this tangled web woven from lies, secrecy and deceit. Those days when he was nothing more than a doctor and a friend. Those days when he didn't see people die in front of his eyes in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, but in a controlled environment.

Those days when the possibility never occurred to him that he was the reason they were dead. That he was a killer.

_Oh god._

"Look at me," Ben urged, sounding exasperated as he knelt in front of him. JD looked up, in the hope that Ben could understand the type of emotional rollercoaster he was being forced to endure.

No such luck.

"Good," Ben said, in regards to his compliance. "Now listen to me. You can do this." He motioned to the gun lying on the floor barely a few meters away from him. JD flinched, the words coming out in a hurried rush as he shook his head in complete denial of the other man's words. Ben had to know. Ben had to _understand_.

"I can't," JD said weakly, shaking his head. His words began to blur into one another as he continued to speak. "No. No, no I can't. I can't shoot people, Ben. I'm a doctor. I _save_ people, I don't kill them. Doctor Cox might be able to do it, and you might be able to do it, but I can't. I can't—"

His words were cut off by the sound of the hangar door flying open. Five men clad head-to-toe in protective armor entered the room, guns drawn. Ben stood to his full height, somewhat protectively in front of JD. The young doctor didn't move, didn't respond. He just sat there, frozen in shock as the scene unfolded before him. The gun Ben had wielded lay forlorn on the floor and as he watched the other man's immobility, he realized that he had thrown away probably the only weapon he had against these people. _We're going to die, and it's my fault._

The panic flared in his throat once again, a sharp burn in contrast to the dull throb of a migraine in his head. The stress had taken a toll on him, finally, rendering him all but useless in this fight.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

Almost immediately, Ben called back: "We're unarmed!" He motioned to the gun on the floor. The soldiers seemed to accept this as a fact, then raised their P-90's.

JD realized what was about to happen before it happened. _No. No, no, no, no, no!_

In the split second before the soldiers fired, however, Ben yelled. "JD! Get down—_NOW_!"

JD complied the moment the words crashed against his ears. He fell to the ground, moving quicker than he had ever thought possible, stretching himself out along the smooth and cold concrete floor and shutting his eyes as tightly as he could. He felt not unlike a child, hiding under his bed to avoid the wrath of his parents, but the comparison was broken a moment later when gunfire erupted, blazing through the room.

JD felt like bursting into tears.

_Oh no. Ben._

The dark-haired doctor lifted his head, opening his eyes for perhaps the last time before they killed him. For certainly, with Ben now gone, they would kill him, wouldn't they? He was sure the sight was pure carnage and simply imagining it created a white-hot burst of pain deep within his heart. _Not again. _But despite his shortcomings and the mind-numbing fear that crept up on him, JD prepared himself as best as he could. _There is nothing you can do for him now,_ he thought, and opened his eyes.

Despite his preparations, the sight before him drilled into the very marrow of his bones.

He lifted his head in disbelief as he saw the lean figure of Ben standing before the soldiers, all five of whom were writing in pain on the ground, blood spewing from the bottom half of their bodies as the bullets pierced their armor. JD pulled himself off the floor and stood, staring at the pool of red that now stained the hangar floor. Then he averted his eyes to Ben.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" He asked loudly as he felt his annoyance return to shadow the doubt, fear and panic of the last few minutes. Then he faltered, eyes widening. "And what is _that?_"

Ben turned to look at him, only to see JD's gaze directed at his lower arm. The skin had been pulled back to reveal some sort of metal interior, which took the form of a—

"This?" Ben's reply cut off JD's train of thought before it even began. "This is a gun."

The feeling that crept up on JD right then was one akin to heart failure.

_Unbelievable._

* * *

Jordan awoke to a pounding head and the unfavorable disorientation that followed being knocked unconscious. She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead as her senses slowly but surely returned to her, as did her memories. The piercing pain in her head increased, and she swore, but the words lacked her usual bite. "Damn it all to hell," she uttered, sighing as a myriad of colors swam before her eyes—out of focus and dizzying.

_Why am I on the floor? _The thought came to her upon pressing her palms against the cold concrete below to steady herself. While her body was lifting itself off of the ground, Jordan's mind struggled against the haze of incomprehension that shrouded her thoughts, forcing past the barrier she had unwillingly erected between her and the memories she sought. All at once, they trickled back to her, starting from a few days prior and ending with the hangar door being swung open before her, preceding the intense pain that cracked along her skull by mere moments. She couldn't understand the significance of this event until she remembered what had occurred and who she was trying to protect.

Alarm flooded through her as she considered the possible fallout to the attack and her lack of defense. Where was Perry? Jack? JD?

_Oh god,_ she swallowed. _DJ._

A face swam before her eyes and, full of pent-up rage and offsetting panic, Jordan growled, "What did you do with him, you bastard?" She attempted to sound threatening, but the words came out as a hoarse cough.

"Jordan?" A voice called to her, sounding distorted. She felt not unlike walking through a tunnel with this mysterious counterpart, their words far away and their voice unrecognizable.

That is, until they continued to speak. "Jordan, listen to me. You have a concussion."

She _did _listen and realized, hurriedly, that she recognized the voice speaking those words. Relief flooded through her and she visibly relaxed, especially as she called out his name: "DJ?"

"Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling?"

Despite her obvious relief, Jordan couldn't resist lashing out at him with her thoughts. _How do you think I'm feeling, Sally, I just got knocked unconscious!_

But instead of telling him that, she simply replied: "I'm alright. A little disorientated." Her voice was subdued, but soon hardened when she systematically rid it of all vulnerability. "It's nothing I can't handle."

Warm hands pressed against her back, lifting her up into a sitting position. She assumed they belonged to JD, who seemed to be the only one fussing around her. She spared a brief thought for Jack and Perry, but considered the fact that JD would have told her if anything serious had happened. _That, and I would have seen it._ She felt relatively safe, so long as nothing had happened that she couldn't control. So far, it seemed they were in the clear.

JD's hands flitted across the back of her head for a quick second as she struggled to regain her motor functions. When she was able to sit up without reinforcement, the hands disappeared, only to return a moment later to bring something cold to her lips.

"Drink this," he ordered. Jordan obeyed without so much as a sharp gesture in her actions. Something about the tenderness in his voice when the young doctor spoke rid her mind of any negativity towards being told what to do.

_He's making you soft,_ a voice in the back of her head considered. Jordan didn't much care for it. Everything she had done, to this day, was what was supposed to be done. Getting close to—and protecting—DJ was one of them, and she couldn't bring herself to regret doing so. As she drank in earnest, coherency seemed to slowly and carefully return to her. "Where's Perry?" She asked immediately. "And Jack?"

Despite knowing that nothing horrible could have happened to them—she would have felt it, what with being emotionally tied to the both of them—the way that JD flinched, in that moment, made a tendril of fear rise to her throat.

"Where are they, DJ?"

Indecision reigned on JD's features as he considered his reply to her statement. Jordan's vision had now fully returned, as had her skills of observation. There was something about her question and the right answer that disturbed him, but she knew it wasn't about their fate. He would, she knew, react completely differently if anything had happened to the either of them. He, too, seemed emotionally tied—to Perry, especially. Knowing what was to come, that feeling would increase tenfold for JD in the following years.

Perhaps even now.

As she mused the ties between them all and what had brought them together in the face of such a terrifying enemy, JD continued to be undecided about what he should say. Eventually, however, he figured that Jordan must know already, though her lack of concern struck him as odd. "I don't know where they are," he replied, eventually. "Ben's gone to get them."

Of all the reactions JD expected Jordan to have to this news, the return of her trademark smirk was not one of them. Jordan leered at JD, but there seemed to be no genuine emotion in the gesture. "So frontline defense arrived after all?"

Everything clicked into place for the young doctor. _Oh. I understand now._

From Jordan's standpoint, JD looked exceedingly uncomfortable, especially when he muttered to her: "What's going on here, Jordan?" It took her a few moments to figure out the source of his problem, but when she did, something akin to concern welled up deep within her chest. _Of course,_ she thought. _Everything has happened so fast that we had no chance to tell him what was truly happening._

Despite her compassion, Jordan's smirk returned as she reminisced their first meeting since all of this had begun, and the words that were uttered from Perry and Jack's mouths upon her arrival.

"It's not my place to tell," she replied, simply.

Before JD could reply—or protest, which seemed a more likely outcome—a familiar ringtone echoed through the hangar. Jordan extracted her phone from the pocket of her pants and looked at the Caller ID quizzically.

"It's Perry."

JD rolled his eyes in such a Jordan-esque manner that she couldn't help but drop her smirk for a genuine smile. _Perhaps I'm not the only one whose being affected by these circumstances._ "Which one?"

She stared at him, expression drifting from amused to solemn as she answered the call, mouthing the word: _Ours._

* * *

Carla watched in mild fascination as Perry attempted to call his ex-wife for the fifth time that morning. "Calling again?" She asked, eyebrows raised in the direction of the frustrated Irishman. Doctor Cox released a growl in reply and seemed ready to drop the phone to approach her when it suddenly seemed that he received a reply that wasn't a dial tone. Carla couldn't hear what Jordan said in way of greeting, but it was enough to paint a royally confused expression across her old friend's face.

_It's strange to see Perry look so serious,_ she considered, then decided to get back to her work and lay her curiosity to rest as she left him to his own devices.

_JD always manages to get the best of him, though..._

As Carla reorganized her desk, Perry Cox had a phone against his ear and a frown across his face upon sensing the anxiety in Jordan's voice when she picked up. But being the emotionally-crippled narcissist he was, this didn't stop him from jumping straight to the point. Perhaps it was because he was just too tired to deal with Jordan's crap, or that if he pressed her, he wouldn't like what she had to tell. Either way, he asked gruffly. "Where's Newbie?"

"How the hell would I—" Perry cut her off mid-sentence. _There we go,_ he thought to himself._ Classic Jordan._

He didn't have time to listen to her denials and her attitude. He was a busy man. _You know—patient's to treat, lives to save, and what have _you_ been up to today, Jorderoo, apart from bumping uglies with Sparkles?_ He would have said as much but damn it all if he wasn't feeling a little considerate. "Cut the crap, Jordan, I know he's with you. Put him on the phone."

Despite his convictions, something in him faltered when he heard the muffled call of: "He wants to talk to you."

Then a tentative: "Hello?"

Perry growled, the sound rumbling in his chest like thunder across the skies. He concentrated all of his irritation and betrayal—though he would vehemently deny the latter if asked—into the one word. "Newbie?"

"H-Hi, Doctor Cox."

The hesitation, if anything, only increased his frustration with the naïve man-child his ex-wife had put him on the phone with. "Quit stuttering, Clarabelle, you're starting to sound like Nervous Guy." A pause. "Where are you?"

There was another pause, this time from the other side of the phone. JD was just about to reply when suddenly Perry realized something.

"You know what, Newbie—I don't care. Just get your ass back over here, or I swear—"

A voice came through the receiver, however, that stopped Perry in his tracks. "JD? Jordan? Are you alright?"

There was a hurried reply as JD seemed to all but scramble for the phone. "Uh, I'm sorry Doctor Cox, I have to go." Before Perry could respond, he hung up.

Removing the phone from his ear, Perry Cox frowned down at it, perplexed, because he could have sworn he'd just heard his own voice.

* * *

From within the warehouse, JD found himself suddenly accosted by a worried Doctor Cox. The young doctor simply frowned at how unnerving this all was—only a moment beforehand he had been on the phone to his mentor and now he stood here, before him, looking like anything but the healer he knew the man to be. Placing his observations aside, JD allowed the auburn-haired man to complete his check-up.

"Who was on the phone?" Doctor Cox asked him, gruffly.

Just as JD opened his mouth to reply, Jordan answered: "You were."

Doctor Cox looked up at her, confused, then shook his head and returned to the task of checking the younger doctor for injuries. Once he was finished with JD, he turned to Jordan, who batted his hands away. "I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow in JD's direction, looking doubtful. "Is that true, Newbie?"

Jordan sent him a death glare, but JD found himself unable to look away from Doctor Cox's shielded face as he waited in anticipation of his answer. The words left his mouth almost involuntarily. "Concussion. Mild, but still needs medical attention." Instead of getting angry at him like he suspected, Jordan simply looked intrigued, glancing from one to the other with a small smile on her face. Before JD could question her, however, he noticed something about the man in front of her he had failed to identify beforehand.

_He had blood on his hands._

Doctor Cox followed JD's gaze and frowned. "I need your help, Sarah. Some of the soldiers survived and they need to be patched up before they can provide us with any real information." JD nodded, finally identifying a request he could actually carry out without fear of losing whatever sanity he had left. Falling quickly into the role of doctor, he paced down the hall towards the secondary hangar, which had been set up as some sort of temporary sickbay. The smell of blood initially disarmed him, unused to the copper scent without some sort of disinfectant following soon after. Instead, the musky air of the warehouse only served to increase the potency of the smell. It wasn't long, however, until JD fell into his practice.

He and Doctor Cox made quick work of the wounded. Ben had managed to calculate where it would be the easiest place to shoot the men, disarming them as soon as possible but still allowing operation to be clean and, to some extent, simple. JD was no surgeon, but was trained to handle emergency situations as any doctor was. With Doctor Cox's extensive knowledge—the man really _was_ brilliant, after all—majority of the wounds were cleaned out and the bullet fragments removed. Five of the six remaining soldiers were treated as quickly and as effectively as possible, and their chances were good. One of them, however, was in a critical condition.

JD recognized the man as the first to approach them in the main hangar, the same man who had decidedly knocked Jordan out instead of killing her. This action went a long way to ease JD's doubts about him, but he still kept his distance. _Do not allow yourself to be emotionally compromised,_ a small part of his mind called out to him. He was forced to agree, slightly surprised but in no way shocked to learn that his logical side spoke to him in Doctor Cox's voice.

Over all, their handling of the situation went well, though Doctor Cox remained subdued throughout the entirety of the procedure. JD spared a brief thought as to why, but decidedly left the question alone. It wasn't until half-way through cleaning out the gunshot wound and applying the anti-infection gel despite the severity of the injury, that the man they were working on seemed to speak. He had been awake for at least a quarter of the time they had spent on him, a courageous decision, as most of the men had succumbed to blissful unconsciousness for wounds that were less severe. What was most intriguing about the fact that the man spoke, was that he seemed to recognize JD.

"You're the target," the man informed him, weakly. JD resisted the urge to roll his eyes—something he had been doing a lot for the past day or so, and for no apparent reason, either—and simply nodded in the man's direction.

_Tell me something I don't know,_ he thought.

As if somehow hearing his inner request, the man continued. "T-The Collective wants you dead. I don't know why, but we were hired to kill you."

Any plausible reply that JD had been thinking up to this piece of news was drowned out by Doctor Cox's sudden exclamation. The older man swore, something JD had rarely seen him do, and he looked more solemn than ever.

"What does that mean?" JD asked, feeling panic rise to his throat at his mentor's reaction. "Doctor Cox? _Perry?_" At the sound of his name being called, Doctor Cox snapped out of whatever downward spiral the information had forced him into. The older doctor simply stared at JD, his eyes speaking where his voice could not. _This is bad,_ JD thought, _I don't know how or why it is, but its bad news. Doctor Cox isn't even berating me for using his first name, for god's sakes._

This small fact was what led JD to do what he did next, something he probably never would have if the situation was anything but critical. He walked around the bed in which the man was suspended on, having being subdued once more by the mild sedative they pumped through his veins, and towards Doctor Cox. The older man's gaze was fixated firmly on the ground and before he could regret his actions, JD placed his hands on Doctor Cox's shoulders.

Doctor Cox looked up as quickly as if he had been jolted by electricity. For a long moment, the two simply stared at each other, until JD felt his hands begin to shake. Only then did he dare speak—"What is it, Doctor Cox? Who is this Collective?"

It was a long time before the older man would speak. When he did, however, the raw emotion in his voice was enough to stop JD in his tracks. His words, however, were far worse.

"They're the ones who started all of this."

JD opened his mouth to reply—to offer some condolence, to say something, _anything_ that would subdue the look of complete agony that crossed over his mentor's face. However, no words came.

"They're the one who destroyed the future."

There was a short pause, wherein JD held his breath.

"They took everything from me..." Doctor Cox said, sorrowfully. "And they're after _you_, Newbie."

All of a sudden, the room seemed to drop in temperature. JD felt goose bumps rise across his skin and he shuddered, but dared not move away. His hands rose from Doctor Cox's shoulders to his neck and promptly—before either of them knew what was going on—wrapped themselves around the other man in the form of a tight embrace. Doctor Cox simply blinked in shock at the warm body pressed against his, but his hands—which had curled into fists from the moment he had heard the word Collective leave the soldier's mouth—seemed to rise of their own accord, ready to wrap themselves involuntarily around the younger man while his mind remained frozen. Before they were even halfway there, however, a terrifying sound shattered the perpetual silence that surrounded them.

JD was the first to react. "He's coding. Starting CPR." Doctor Cox flew into action beside JD, both of them setting aside the emotion of what had just occurred in place of the more pressing matter at hand. JD began to pump rhythmically against the man's inert chest. _One... Two... Three... Four... Five... _

But it was no use. The heartbeat faltered and died, as did the soldier before them as his body went still and silent. JD raised his eyes to look at Doctor Cox, who was staring down at the body in a sort of abject horror. A moment later, it was replaced with sorrow as both doctors contemplated the loss of a patient. "Time of death, 12:35," he whispered when his mentor fell into quietude. As the dark-haired doctor was ready to leave, however, he heard Doctor Cox call out to him.

JD turned around.

"You're going to pay for that hug, you know that?"

Despite the fact that he knew Doctor Cox sure would deliver on his promise, JD smiled. There were some things that never changed and some things he never wanted to change.

This was one of those times.

* * *

A half an hour later, JD found himself back in the main hangar. Jack and Ben walked through the door a moment before he and Doctor Cox had returned after dealing with the soldier's body. It had been a quiet affair, but the silence was devoid of any awkwardness. It seemed that the air was clearer, now, with Doctor Cox's attempted humor near the end of it. Those words spoke more than anybody realized, especially to JD. They told him that his mentor was going to be alright after all.

And, consequentially, so was he.

"Is everyone okay?" Jack asked, having just returned from repairing the damage done to the electrical systems. While he was with Doctor Cox in the sickbay, he had heard Jack and Ben walking down the corridors, saying something about _'wiring', 'gunfire'_ and _'one-hundred percent efficiency'. _JD didn't pretend to understand what they were talking about, so long as everything was alright, so was he.

So, it seemed, was everyone else. Jack visibly relaxed when Doctor Cox assured him. "They're fine, Jack." The teenager nodded and walked towards the computers, a small smile across his face. There was a moment of silence before he spoke.

"Damage reports shows that the main terminal wasn't touched during the attack, but one of the electrical lines had been severed." He turned to them. "Ben and I have done all we can with the limited supplies we have. Power is still up and running, but the only way we can ensure one-hundred percent efficiency—" _There are those four words again,_ JD thought, smiling slightly at the younger man's intellect. "—is if we can get that line fixed."

A pause followed Jack's report, which was soon filled by Doctor Cox's booming voice as he called, "Ben?"

Ben turned from his place next to Jack, observing the older man with a warm grin. "Perry?"

"You're up."

Ben nodded and turned to Jack, smile growing wider. "Where is the nearest hardware store?" Jack typed in the query on something that looked like a futuristic version of Google. JD was beyond confused, but said nothing. He had learnt from experience that no matter how many times he asked, people just wouldn't answer them until they were ready. Jack wrote something down on a piece of paper, which Ben took, but the brunette wasn't finished yet. "Where has the connection been severed?"

"Main hangar," Jack replied, bringing up what JD assumed were schematics of the warehouse. "Inner wall."

Ben nodded again and left, waving jovially to them as he crossed the threshold of the door. Jack resumed typing, Doctor Cox helped Jordan to her feet—as she was still feeling groggy—and JD simply gaped at them all, the last of his patience dwindling.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on here?" He asked, voice shrill. "Why did we just get attacked? Who is the Collective and since when have we become a living dead movie?" Everyone simply stared in confusion at the last statement, including Jordan who seemed to have a brilliant track record of ignoring her brother. JD motioned to the door. "Uh, Ben Sullivan, anyone?"

"It's a long story, JD," Doctor Cox began, wearily. JD felt a pang of guilt for plaguing them with questions, especially so soon after they had been attacked. He decided not to push the subject.

_Much._

"I think I have the right to know, since it _is _me that they're after, isn't it?"

Doctor Cox looked ready to object, despite the fact that JD knew his logic was sound, but before he had the chance Jack piqued up. "He's right, Dad. It is his life on the line. We've thrown him into this without a single explanation and I think it's time we provided him with one. About the Knott's, the National Guard, Juvenile... everything."

Doctor Cox turned to Jordan, frowning. "Jorderoo?"

She shrugged in response. "We have to tell him some time."

Perry nodded and turned back to Jack. "We can't do it alone. He needs to see the evidence for himself. How much power will we drain by searching through the archives?"

Jack looked at the screen, then back to his father. "Newspaper articles and TV broadcasts are all on one terminal. We'll have enough." There was a pause as they soaked up this information. "What do you want to show him first?"

Slightly surprised at his success, JD had been subdued by the conversation. Until now. "I think Ben's supposed resurrection sure tops the list of all the wild things that have happened today. What is he—a ghost? Zombie?" _Assassin Elliot in disguise?_

In the end, it was Perry who spoke first. "You really want to know where Ben came from?"

JD nodded, but Perry didn't continue. Instead, Jack said, with a small smile: "That's easy."

The smile grew into a full-blown grin. "I made him."

_And this is the end,  
This is the end,  
Of the world._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE:** That was possibly the longest chapter I have written for this story. I honestly expected it to be only half the size, but once I began writing I really couldn't stop. I hope that the end wasn't too much of a cliffhanger but in comparison to Chapter VI, I'm sure you guys won't mind. One more chapter until the big explanation, but this wouldn't be _My Trigger_ if there isn't something I leave in the dark. So you'll know more by the end of the next chapter, but not all of it. After all, what fun is reading the story if you already know all the things it has to offer? But that thought aside—tell me what you think! But more than that, tell me what you want.

What should I reveal next chapter? The mysterious Collective? Life in the future? Or the truth about Juvenile? You ask, I'll consider.

-- Exangeline.


	10. The Lineage

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot. Lyrics in this arc belong to the band Muse, who has been one of my most constant companions throughout these past few years.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **First, I just wanted to thank everyone who has read this and reviewed. Your comments and criticisms are what keep this story alive, and the feedback has been overwhelming. Thanks for your continuous support! On a more general note, this story takes place in the middle of Season Five. Let's just say it's a few months after _My Fallen Idol_, but far before _My Urologist_, then it veers off from there. Some of the events of the show, however, do occur, including the birth of the next generation—Isabella Turk, Jennifer Dylan Cox and Sam Dorian. By the end of the story, you'll know how these fall into place. I just thought I'd clarify it here, considering the fact that this chapter mentions a variety of dates and events.

Also, I'm Australian, which means majority of my knowledge of the American government is taken off the news, TV and various films. If I get anything wrong, I apologize.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Knights of Cydonia _by Muse.

* * *

**CHAPTER VIII: THE LINEAGE**

_Come ride with me, through the veins of history,  
I'll show you how god falls asleep on the job.  
And how can we win when fools can be kings?  
Don't waste your time, or time will waste you._

"You _made_ him?"

JD's voice carried through the warehouse, his tone incredulous. Jack simply nodded, grinning sheepishly, but the dark-haired doctor barely registered his confirmation of the fact. Instead, he turned to Doctor Cox and Jordan, who were watching his reaction with dual expressions of amusement across their faces. _This is unreal,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head,_ and _I'm_ the one who always daydreams._

To prove that point, he tried to imagine how someone with a logical stance would interpret this news. Surprisingly, it was the very two people in front of him that immediately sprang to mind. _Damn it._

Resigned to the fact that they were, indeed, telling the truth, JD put his head in his hands. He felt a migraine coming on. "You guys really suck at joking, you know that?" He asked, laughing half-heartedly. This was all becoming too much. Even if he had been able to handle the attacks, which still shook him to his core, and the arrival of Doctor Cox and Jack, which he barely understood—to find out that the man who had just saved his life was some sort of centurion?

They were pushing him to his limit. _That_ was for sure.

Doctor Cox's voice was a deep rumble when he spoke. "No joke, Sana. You've seen Ben for yourself. He's real and he's here. You don't have to believe what we say, but you can't deny what you've seen."

_No,_ he agreed, mentally._ I can't._

Because it _was_ true—JD had seen Ben, talked to him, but it was that very fact and his semblance towards the handsome, happy man he had once known that only served to deepen his confusion. Now the challenging part was transforming that feeling into words. He begun slowly, lifting his gaze to meet the three pairs of eyes fixated on his face. "Thing is, that's exactly right."

Doctor Cox, Jack and Jordan all stared at him, eyebrows furrowing in harmonization as the tables were turned and they were the ones who were confused by JD. _A historic moment,_ the young doctor thought, amused.

He was quick to relieve them, however—a same courtesy they had yet to extend to him. "I _have_ seen him, enough to know that he is Ben Sullivan. But he's _too much_ like Ben." He turned to Jack, focusing all of his attention on the laid-back teen. "How is that even possible? And don't give me all that cryptic 'wait and see' stuff. You agreed only a second ago that it's time you should come clean."

JD needn't have voiced the addition to his question, as Jack seemed very intent on answering him. Whether it was the truthful answer or not, the dark-haired man had yet to decide. "Truth is, I'm not exactly sure," Jack replied. JD's eyes flickered to his face in disbelief, but upon seeing the indecision written all over Jack's face, he had no choice but to assume that the boy was telling the truth. Nobody could fake that look of deep-seeded doubt—as a doctor, JD knew the tell-tale signs of a liar. Jack displayed none of them. Still, the teenager must have seen some sort of disarray on his face, because he continued first and foremost by saying: "Don't get me wrong."

JD nodded and tuned into what the younger Cox was saying, but he could make no promises. Half of what had already been said managed to fly straight over his head, and that was the easy stuff.

"I mean, by 2018, robotics have—_will_—advance to the point where humanoid-like machines are able to interact with the general public, but only the National Guard are privy to them. After everything that's happened—everything that _will_ happen—they're the only group powerful enough to use them, really."

_Yeah,_ JD thought, resisting the urge to sigh loudly. His next thought was a slightly sarcastic: _That went well._

He contemplated the irony of the situation, for here he was—finally getting the answers he sought ever since this fiasco had begun, and he couldn't even _understand_ most of it. Every answer, it seemed, led onto a billion more questions. _What does that even mean? National Guard? What does any of this mean? _As his thoughts fell into turmoil, a bemused frown crossed his face. Upon seeing this, Jordan tilted herself towards him.

"I'll put this simply, Jasmine," she began, a look of barely repressed frustration across her sharp, beautiful features. JD nodded, albeit apprehensively. After all, what part of this was _simple?_

None of it, it seemed, if Jordan's next words were any indication.

"America falls into a state of Martial Law by 2010. The National Guard is the term used to describe the combination of army, navy, air-force and special officers that make up the leading power. Whatever you think you know about our government, DJ? Forget it, because in the face of things to come, the President of the United States is nothing more than a figurehead to a much more sinister power."

JD's head spun. _Martial law? Sinister power?_ But despite his many questions, one observation stood out from the rest.

"2010?" He ended up exclaiming. "That's only four years from now!" When nobody replied, he continued, slightly sarcastically. "What could possibly happen in that small window of time that shocks the country so much that they declare Martial Law?"

After a very pregnant silence, he received his answer.

"Juvenile happens."

_Whatever that is,_ the brunette thought at the height of his frustration, but didn't dare share the remark with anyone else in the room. The atmosphere was far more serious, the mood too somber for sarcasm or comic relief. When he found it was time for him to speak, in order to get the conversation rolling again—as everyone else seemed reluctant to—he fell back on the original topic of discussion.

_Ben._

"So robots are real in your time?"

JD observed as the tension left Jack's face, the boy visibly relaxing as the subject fell into his field of expertise. He nodded. "They are, so much so that they look like you and me. Most of them are used for heavy infiltration work, or assassinations."

He shuddered upon hearing the word _assassinations._ Hadn't enough blood been spilt already? Apparently not.

Decidedly ignoring the million other questions that were raised by this response, JD focused on the issue at hand, keeping to closed questions that would receive the quickest replies. "Is Ben?"

Jack answered with a shake of his head.

"He's got the same weaponry as the others, but was programmed to protect, not to kill," the fair-haired teen replied. "I wasn't lying to you when I said I don't know how I did it—make him, I mean—I remember it fine, but if you asked me to re-do it, I wouldn't be able to." Before JD had the chance to speak, or ask any further questions, Jack continued.

"Somehow, everything fell into place in front of me, as if I understood it. Each piece had a certain function, and in working together, could bring about life."

JD directed his next question to the general group. "So it just happened? Like your visions?" The last question had him spinning around to face Jordan, who nodded curtly. Despite himself, JD grinned. "So it runs in the family?"

While Jack and Jordan couldn't understand his sudden bout of humor, Doctor Cox picked up on JD's train of thought quicker than he himself did. "Don't even think about it, Newbie."

Mother and son looked back and forth between them, almost comically. JD's grin just grew wider. "You so are."

Doctor Cox sighed exasperatedly. "No, Newbie, I am na_-hot_ Superman."

"That wasn't what I was thinking about," he said, indignantly, while trying to save face in front of Jack and Jordan. This was, of course, a lie—one of which Doctor Cox clearly identified, but his mentor said nothing else on the subject.

Jack and Jordan continued to watch the exchange with matching smirks on their faces. _So he's like his mother as well,_ JD considered, watching the blue-eyed teenager watching him. Jack's smirk transformed into a more genuine smile after that, however, which seemed to remind him more of himself than it did Doctor Cox or Jordan. _That's impossible though. If I was as close to them in the future as I'd like to be, why didn't I come back with them? _There was no way any sort of casual companionship he had with Doctor Cox and Jordan in the future—if any—could affect the teenager to such an extent.

_I'm probably imagining it,_ he thought dejectedly._ That is, after all, what I do best._

The dark mood that JD found himself slipping deeper and deeper into as the minutes passed was shattered by Jack's excited suggestion of: "Do you want to see how I programmed Ben?"

JD gave the teenager a wan smile, shaking off his thoughts. "Sure."

The programming, JD later learnt, came with the package deal of being able to make Ben in the first place. The younger Cox had managed to re-access the program eventually, with much difficulty, but had only just begun to do the research necessary to understand it. JD turned to Jordan, remembering her skills in programming that she displayed earlier, but one look from her told him she was equally as perplexed. It seemed her knowledge of computers was limited to what had already been discovered and what was being discovered now, no further, as well as those ideas central to her visions. Still, both displayed enough rudimentary knowledge of the system to fill in the gaps for JD and Doctor Cox. Despite his extra talents, the auburn-haired man had stubbornly decided to stick to medicine instead of switching sciences like his son.

The crash course in programming came to an end as Jack said, on a positive note, "If anyone can understand this programming, its Ben. His knowledge of it is finite, though, because there are certain parts he isn't allowed to access."

Before JD could even attempt to _look_ confused, Jordan picked up where Jack left off.

"Despite how much he sounds and looks like Ben, DJ, he's not. He's a machine, whose personality is nothing more than lines of code. I'm not saying I don't believe in artificial intelligence, as I'm sure I will one day be proved wrong if I did, but giving him access to all of his programming is essentially allowing for mutiny." Jack and Doctor Cox nodded in agreement, but both of them looked less than happy upon hearing the negativity in Jordan's voice.

JD, however, was contemplative, for he had just realized why Jordan distanced herself from Ben. In Jordan's eyes, he wasn't Ben, but rather a constant reminder of the brother she had lost. He looked, sounded and felt like Ben—his personality, essentially, was there—but he wasn't Ben. The thought saddened JD and he could understand why it had a similar affect to Jack and Doctor Cox. Considering the level of grief his mentor had experienced upon losing Ben, the opportunity to speak to someone who acted even remotely like his friend was a blessing. Jack, also, seemed to interpret it in a positive manner—to him, it was like meeting the Uncle he never knew.

JD could understand both sides of the story, but instinctively sided with Doctor Cox and Jack. Whatever the case, he had just been granted the opportunity to talk to a dear friend, no matter how artificial that friend now was.

The young doctor still had so many questions, especially about Ben, but even Jack and Doctor Cox seemed reluctant to talk about it further, as the subject seemed to bring them into contemplation of the more negative side of Ben's conception. The only other alternatives were painful still, but they had promised him answers and, despite how selfish it seemed, he wanted them to deliver.

"The soldier we were working on spoke about a group, the ones who were apparently after me." He let the statement linger, hoping one of them would pick up where he left off.

Doctor Cox bowed his head in anticipation of what was to come while Jordan and Jack looked slightly perplexed at his statement. "Which group?" Jack asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"He said they were called the Collec—"

"That's enough, Newbie."

JD jolted up to meet Doctor Cox, who was frowning in his direction. JD didn't understand what the look meant at first, until it hit him—a double-exposed memory of the present Doctor Cox,_ his_ Doctor Cox, staring at him with the same, intent expression. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what it meant, until he realized it was the very look that the older doctor gave him when he was trying to tell him: _we need to talk. _It was a stare reserved for sharing concerns with one another when they didn't want to do so in front of a patient. This time, it seemed, that the conversation that followed was to exclude Jack and Jordan. JD gave him a small nod, and considered the subject dropped.

Sort of.

"Well, if you won't talk about that, then answer me this," he reasoned, directing the butt-end of the statement towards Jordan. "What will happen in the next four years that's so devastating that America has to fall back on its armed forces?"

But, of course, instead of answering him right out, Jordan had to challenge him. Her face was deadpan as she spoke: "Guess."

JD frowned, confused. How was _he_ supposed to know? He was about to say that aloud when he considered the possibilities. _An attack from a foreign country? Terrorism? _But all that had happened before, and the country had bounced back from what was possibly one of the most terrifying days in history. JD decided to do what he did best, then, and think outside the box. _Civil war? Alien abductions?_

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the dark-haired doctor let his thoughts linger on that last one. _Jordan did say that the President had become a figurehead—maybe she meant that literally, and they took him? Oh, god. What if _I _was abducted?_

"You may take my brain, but you will never have my soul!" He declared, and was all at once brought back to reality to find three pairs of eyes fixated on him.

_Awkward._

Luckily, he was saved by his mentor placing his head in his hands exasperatedly, shattering the silence with the gesture. "It was so na-_hot_ an alien abduction, Jessica. And why would they abduct_ you, _of all people?"

_Damn,_ JD thought, frowning. _He has a point._

"Seriously though," he said, sighing. "Can't you guys just tell me? It has to be something really big, doesn't it? Like an attack or a war or..."

He didn't know why the answer just occurred to him, but it did. Maybe it was the way that they all looked at him, in that moment, with such meaningful eyes, reminding him that he was a very big part of this. Or, perhaps, he had realized it all along. After all, why would this mysterious Collective be after him? He was just a doctor, and definitely not a spectacular one, but he had potential. Why would he be of value if it were an attack? Or war? By simply deducting all of the impossibilities in the face of this knowledge, there was really only one thing it _could_ be—only one thing he could possibly try to prevent and would have a chance at succeeding.

"A biological outbreak." The words left his mouth as the thought crossed his mind and he took the silence as a resounding affirmative to the unspoken question that accompanied his statement.

But it wasn't enough for him to simply assume—he had to know for sure. With a sharp intake of breath, he turned to them. "Let me get this straight. This—this _Juvenile _you've all been hinting to, the thing that tears up the country... is a _virus?_"

Doctor Cox nodded. "A deadly one."

From within his mind, JD's medical counterpart—Doctor Diagnosis, as he had so fondly called him—stirred to life. A multitude of questions struck him then, all as important as one another. Deductions needed to be made, the symptoms needed to be clarified and the cause of death absolute. But just as he was about to turn to his mentor, who was waiting patiently for his response, the words dried up in his mouth as something else about the situation struck out at him.

He sat there for several long moments, simply blinking stupidly as he tried desperately not to see the connection that was being laid out so neatly in front of him. However, the moment he thought about it, he was unable to forget. The words seemed etched into his brain forever as he sat, stock still and frozen, scrambling for some semblance of self-control. He swallowed down the hysteria rising to his throat, forcing his voice not to shake as he spoke.

_No. No freaking way._

The words wouldn't come out. JD let his head fall into his hands, frozen in dread as he contemplated what he would undoubtedly ask next.

"It—the virus..."

He took a deep breath before continuing, hands shaking at his sides.

"It targets _children,_ doesn't it?"

The long silence that followed spoke more to him than words ever could.

* * *

Nobody stopped him from walking out of the hangar as he paced its length, opening and shutting the bulkhead door behind him somewhat robotically. It was only until he had walked half-way down the hall that he realized he had no idea where he was going—leaving wasn't an option, no matter how much he wished he could simply run as fast as he could away from the knowledge, the carnage and the severity of it all. He had no desire to revisit the sickbay, for it would only force him back into the reality he was trying so hard to distance himself from. But fate was not so merciful, and even his fantasies failed to grip him as they once did, forcing him back into the downward spiral of his thoughts.

Resting his head against the wall of the dank, dark hallway, JD considered the opposite effect that knowing had on him, and how he'd do anything to be pulled back into blissful ignorance. _What do you do when you've just found out that the next few years will be filled with nothing but darkness, suffering and pain? _Doctor Cox and Jack had come back, presumably not only to save his life, but to save millions of others as well. _But how do you hope to stop a virus that hasn't even developed yet?_

In the end, it was Doctor Cox who provided him with those very answers as he crossed the threshold of the door and approached him in the corridor. The dark-haired doctor slid down the wall, landing in a heap on the floor. Doctor Cox moved to sit beside him, concern playing out on the older man's face. It was a long while before either of them spoke, but when it came down to it, JD always knew he was going to be the first to talk.

"Is it selfish of me not to want to deal with this?" He asked, after the long pause. It didn't really matter what Doctor Cox said, he knew, because the answer was already there right in front of him. _Is it selfish of me not to want to deal with this? _He thought._ Yes, it is._ While he wasn't sure what type of a role he played in the dystopia that their future had become, he knew it was a pivotal one. After all, why would they risk coming back for him if he was just another nameless bystander?

His position had merit, it seemed, and his participation in the mission was vital. How could he say no to that? If it would save hundreds upon thousands of lives?

He couldn't. It was as simple as that.

So his surprise was understandable when Doctor Cox's answer wasn't an outraged yes, but rather a barely audible: "No, it's not."

For the first time since the older man had joined him, JD turned his eyes to glance over at Doctor Cox. His mentor, his friend—a man who had been forced into the most horrible of situations, yet had somehow breached the surface and formulated a plan. His bravery was undeniable, but JD expected no less from the great Perry Cox. The man was brilliant in everything he did, and he knew it, which got JD to thinking. If anybody was to play a pivotal role in this entire fiasco, it would be him.

So why were they after JD, then, when it was Doctor Cox who was so clearly in charge?

The words escaped him before he had any time to react, to stop them in their tracks. Doctor Cox's deadpan expression gave way to a small half-smile, a look so rare and uncharacteristic of the curly-headed man, yet suited him so well. After years of working beside him, of observing him, however, JD took the smile for what it truly was. It portrayed his sadness, his loneliness and his desperation.

And it almost broke his heart.

_Almost._

For it was then that he received the answer to his somewhat impromptu question of: "Why me?" All other emotion became suppressed in the wake of blatant surprise as he ran the words over and over again in his head.

"They're after you because you were the one who finally stopped them."

There was a slight pause as the older man let the words sink in. Then he delivered the punch line—the eight words that rung in JD's head long after he had stopped speaking.

"You were the one who found a cure."

JD's eyebrows went up. Way up. "_Me?_ I'm the one who found the cure?" Doctor Cox nodded and JD's body erupted in a volley of sensations. He was filled with the strangest mixture of pride and dread as the conflicting emotions swelled in his chest—pride, from the fact that it was him who had come up with the cure to what was undoubtedly one of the most horrific outbreaks humankind had ever experienced, and dread from the fact that if things didn't change, and soon, he would undoubtedly have to do just that. Find a cure. _The_ cure. To the Juvenile virus.

_How am I supposed to do that when I know absolutely nothing about it?_

He imagined, almost comically, what Jordan would say to this. "I see a lot of sleepless nights in your future, DJ." Despite himself, and the situation, and Doctor Cox, and everything that was going wrong today—JD laughed.

The genuine happiness in the gesture gave way to an overwhelming sensation of, well, being overwhelmed. He shifted his body so he could better see the man sitting beside him, who had observed his adverse reaction with a single, raised eyebrow. The look on his face almost sent JD back into laughter, but the urgency of his next question prevented him from falling back into hysteria. "How?"

"How what?"

"How do I find the cure, when I don't even know what the virus _is_?" All humor in the situation faded in the wake of the silence that fell down upon them right then. Doctor Cox seemed to mull the question over in his head, undoubtedly finding the best way to approach the subject. The best way, without revealing too much.

"The disease causes a brain aneurysm above the visual cortex after torturing the victim with hallucinations. At first, it was assumed that the outbreak was a mutated strain of an existing virus, until we found out that the hallucinations these people—these_ children_—were suffering were too specific, too frighteningly similar in each victim. The only logical explanation was that the virus wasn't organic, that it was manufactured with the specific purpose of invoking fear before sudden death."

JD scrambled to process the words that crashed against his ears, his head spinning as he struggled to get a grasp on what he was hearing.

"Wait," he asked, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you saying that the Juvenile virus was _man made?_"

Doctor Cox nodded, and JD's stomach dropped for the second time that day.

The young doctor was surprised, to say the least, when the question on his lips wasn't _why_ but_ how_. After being attacked more than once and in such rapid succession, he had no doubt that whoever created the virus was horrid enough to release it into the general population. But how? How did they engineer the virus to create such vivid imagery—if what Doctor Cox described was correct—and to target children, of all groups? It didn't make sense. It wasn't a hate crime, as the deaths weren't restricted to a single race or minority. Not why, but _how_—how could they do such a thing to innocent people? To children, like Jack in the present, like the little baby Turk and Carla were expecting, or the progeny he one day wished to have?

_How could they be so inhumane?_

More importantly, who were _they?_

"You didn't want to talk about the Collective in front of Jack and Jordan, so will you tell me about them now?" He asked, mind falling into turmoil as he contemplated whether or not he truly wanted to know who the Collective was and what they were capable of. Still, he had come this far and still managed to regain a shred of his sanity when everything fell into chaos, so he took the plunge. He met Doctor Cox's eyes, through the anti-flash lenses of his glasses.

And he could feel, rather than see, the emotion that darkened his mentor's eyes.

"You re-he-_heally_ don't want to know about the Collective, Newbie, and I really don't want to have to tell you until its absolutely necessary." Doctor Cox's voice was stern, yet gentle as he spoke, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grasp on his knees, bent in front of him. JD adopted a similar stance, all the while watching the older man's face as he continued. "All you need to know is that they are from the future, they are dangerous and they will stop at nothing to hinder your ability to find a cure to the virus. To answer the question I'm pretty positive is on your mind, alongside your thoughts of puppies and rainbows—yes, they were the ones who created the virus."

JD shuddered.

"I don't think I want to know anymore," he said, honestly. Doctor Cox nodded.

"No," he agreed. "You really don't." _And neither did I_—the words needed not to be spoken between them, as JD heard them as clearly as if they had, indeed, been voiced.

While he knew that, beneath the surprise and contemplation, he definitely had more questions for Doctor Cox, there was none that were as urgent as those that had already been answered. There was so much he could know at one given time—so much he _should_ know, and the rest he shouldn't. After learning what truly brought Doctor Cox and Jack back to the present, their past, JD didn't think he could handle anymore. Curiosity killed the cat, after all, and satisfaction brought it back.

And JD, indeed, was satisfied.

Even so, it turned out that this was the last question JD could have asked anyway, as the slightly tense, yet companionable silence that fell over mentor and protégé then was lifted by the shrill ringing of a mobile phone. Before JD could even think about moving his hand to his pocket where his phone was located, Doctor Cox raised his own phone to his ear and pressed TALK.

"Hello?" He asked, gruffly, looking rather perplexed at who could possibly be calling him. JD's first thought was that it was Ben, but the look of barely disguised surprise—and, to some extent, horror—threw that assumption out of the window.

After a long moment of watching Doctor Cox listen to the person on the other side of the line, the auburn-haired man exclaimed: "You're _where?_"

The person seemed to repeat their location. Doctor Cox swore in a combination of words that made JD's head spin.

"Alright," he grumbled eventually. "I'll be out in a minute." He hung up, without so much as a goodbye, and suddenly they weren't alone anymore. Jordan and Jack stumbled out into the hallway, the former opening her mouth to speak.

"Is that—?"

Doctor Cox nodded in affirmation before she could even finish her question. "He's here. _Now._"

Jordan repeated said swear words, looking equally as put out. JD was just about to ask what they were talking about—as well, it seemed, as Jack—when Jordan turned back to Doctor Cox after pacing a small distance away from him down the hall. "This might actually be a good thing, Perry—" Doctor Cox said nothing, eyebrows raised behind his glasses with a clear expression on his face that said: _go on._ She finished rather anti-climactically. "—Considering the package we're waiting to get from him."

Doctor Cox sighed. Her logic, it seemed, was irrefutable. "I guess you're right, Jorderoo. I just hoped I wouldn't have to deal with that rat-bastard until tomorrow, at least."

"Who is it?"

_Thank god for Jack,_ JD thought, amusedly. _They might actually answer him._

"Your great-uncle Argyle."

Instead of swearing like his parents, Jack simply screwed up his nose in distaste. The expression was utterly adorable, but did nothing but perplex JD further. Before he could ask, though, Doctor Cox and Jordan began making their way towards the end of the hall. JD was about to follow them when he felt a tug on his shirt. He averted his eyes to Jack's, whose clearly stated that they should recede back into the main hangar and let Jordan and Doctor Cox deal with their visitor.

As they fell into the swivel chairs in front of the computer terminals, JD turned to the teenager. Jack spun in his seat, exuberant while still looking as if he had just tasted something awful.

"What's wrong with your great-uncle, Jack?" JD asked, nonchalantly, trying extremely hard to keep the raw curiosity from his voice.

And failing.

"He's from the army," Jack replied, with no apparent hesitation. "Which meant he joined the National Guard. They didn't like us much—to them, we were rebels."

"Rebels?" JD repeated, eyebrows furrowing. "Why?"

"Because we were the ones trying to find a cure."

A sharp stab of dread struck out at him right then. "You mean they—_our defense forces_—weren't?"

Jack shook his head, and the acute dread in his stomach seemed to spread to accompany his entire body. JD was just about to ask why, when an idea formulated in his mind. It seemed logical, and fell into place with what Jordan had said earlier. _The Collective, this mysterious group—they had to have had some large measure of power in order to create the virus in the first place._ As a doctor, JD knew firsthand that the appropriate machinery wasn't cheap. It made sense in a sick, twisted way that the members of the Collective would have had to have some sort of connection to the major powers, which included the defense force. _Or, in this case, the National Guard._

And, of course, the President.

JD looked to Jack, quizzically, but had no opportunity to speak as Doctor Cox and Jordan returned, followed by an elder man. His faded, curly hair fell into his vibrant blue eyes and the relation between him and Doctor Cox was undeniable. Both men had the same, chiseled face and deadpan expression. JD fell into contemplation as he observed the newcomer. _So this is Argyle Cox, then? _From what Jack assured would transpire if the Juvenile virus was, indeed, released, this man was not only dangerous—but also not on their side. He hadn't mentioned any details about the old man, except for his involvement in the National Guard, but for JD, that was enough.

Enough to know he didn't trust him.

Another, taller man followed Argyle Cox into the room. He had a grin stretched across his dark-skinned face, one that could only be described as wicked. If JD didn't trust Argyle, then he trusted this man less. His eyes were dark, cold and calculating. They weren't the eyes of an assistant to an old man—they were the eyes of an assassin. After being in the company of not one—but two—assassins in so many hours, JD recognized the look immediately.

His instincts sung to him. _This man is dangerous._

JD's feeling of unease grew when Doctor Cox announced their visitor's arrival. "JD, Jack—I'd like you to meet my uncle, General Argyle Cox, and his assistant, Keith Neaylon." The tone of his mentor's voice was anything but inviting. In fact, it was stone cold. If JD didn't like these two men, he knew that Doctor Cox liked them less. The feeling seemed to be wide-spread as Jack and Jordan watched them in equal discomfort.

"Keith is not only my assistant, Perry," Argyle spoke, keeping his voice light. JD frowned at his tone. It seemed friendly enough, accommodating even, but there was something sinister to it. Perhaps it was the way he was undermining Doctor Cox, or simply the way he surveyed the room, gaze fixating hungrily on the sphere in the middle of the hangar. Either way, the dark-haired Doctor's discomfort only blossomed from there. "He's one of the world's best interrogators."

"That is, I assume, why you asked me here?" Argyle added, innocently, though JD knew the man to be anything but. "You wish to _interrogate_ your prisoners?"

JD's jaw dropped.

_Interrogate? Prisoners?_

He stood. "There's no way—"

But the words didn't come out, his point was not conveyed, for in that moment he was interrupted. By Doctor Cox.

His mentor's gaze was downcast, his face contorted into a look of barely disguised shame.

"Yes. We do."

_No one's gonna take me alive,  
Time has come to make things right.  
You and I must fight for our rights -  
You and I must fight to survive._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Oh wow. My so called 'short edit' of this chapter turned out to be extending it by about 2,000 words. But still, all of the information expressed here is invaluable. But just so you're wondering—we'll find out more about the Juvenile virus, as well as the Collective, later. The reason why I chose to disclose Juvenile rather than the inner workings of the Collective or Perry's personal stake in the future was because I recently retrofitted the next few chapters to reveal some pretty big bombshells about the virus. Also, and this is very important—all the loose ends that have been brought up but not properly explained (aka. Jordan's visions, Jack's ability to create Ben and how the Juvenile virus seemingly targets children) are all interconnected. Just a clue for you guys. I should also add that another big clue can be found within an episode of one of my favorite Science Fiction shows. Specifically, one mentioned in my disclaimer a couple of times.

But on a more general note—how did I go? Compelling enough for you? Less confusing? More confusing?

-- _Exangeline._


	11. The Juvenile

**DISCLAIMER:** Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot. Lyrics in this arc belong to the band Muse, who has been one of my most constant companions throughout these past few years...

**AUTHORS NOTE:** This chapter is finally finished. I think I have to go faint now.

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Okay. I've regained myself long enough to write this note. To begin: Please, please, _please_ forgive me for the massive delay between the posting of the last chapter and this one. So many things have been happening around here, varying from shattering realizations, such as when I realized you actually have to _work _at work, spontaneous shoulder surgeries, family issues, stress and the fact that doctors can never, _ever_ do anything right. Honestly, forget what you've seen on Scrubs—hospitals suck. I feel sorry for anyone sick enough to have to go to one here in Australia, because I have never seen a more shoddy service. But enough of that—a lot of the delay can be contributed to the fact that my plan for this chapter had only been about two lines long, consisting primarily of: "JD angry. Perry changed. Ask Jordan and Jack about future and *insert massive chapter spoiler conveniently summarized in three words*". Yeah, you get the idea. This chapter was just impossible to write, but it turned out okay.

Oh, and a personal request, though I have no right to ask of this: if you decide to review and the words 'confused' come up somewhere in the course of your writing, can you please detail what it is, exactly, that confuses you? I'm trying to figure out how to straighten out the story, but it's virtually impossible when nobody will tell me what perplexes them. Seriously, even if it's just about how the hell they can have robots in the future, tell me. Please. It'll go a long way. Otherwise, enjoy.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Map of the Problematique _by Muse.

* * *

**CHAPTER IX: THE JUVENILE**

_Life will flash before my eyes,  
So scattered and lost, I want to touch the other side.  
And no one thinks they are to blame,  
Why can't we see that when we bleed we bleed the same?_

"You are not my nephew."

The words were a statement, not a question, as they passed through Argyle's lips. Perry turned, locking eyes with him through the reflective lenses of his glasses, a familiar scowl rising to his face. He was largely unsurprised by the comment, as his uncle had always been very observant—from his childhood in the past, all the way to the pivotal role he played in the future. Though he had no dominant role in Perry's world for most of his adult life, he had no doubt that Argyle knew who he was. Or, at least, he knew what he had _heard_ about him. A doctor with an incredibly strong stance on the ill-treatment of prisoners was highly unlikely to say yes to a process that would cause their detainees irreparable damage. If the idea was even mentioned in the vicinity of his present self, Perry had no doubt that he would launch into one of his rare—but fun—rants about the morals of society. Now, however, those same lines between what was right and what was necessary had become horribly blurred in the midst of chaos, destruction and terrifying loss. The future had changed him in ways one could not fathom, and he had the scars to prove it.

Almost instinctively, though he hated himself for it, Perry's hands moved to adjust the sleeves of his coat, feeling the hairline fractures that marred his skin. The material of the coat billowed around him as he walked the length of the hall and was struck with the familiarity of it pooling around his hips, a painstaking reminder of the laboratory attire he wore as a doctor. The ashen black of the coat he now donned, though, seemed to describe what he had been through more than words ever could.

To Argyle, his reply was simple.

"No. I'm not."

Argyle nodded and the two fell into silence, Keith following shortly after. Perry prepared himself for more questions, as Argyle would clearly grill him the next moment they had alone. For now, however, they were united in the face of a common goal. Argyle wasn't an idiot, and though Perry would have much preferred it if he was, he was glad for this fact. It made easing into the transition from doctor to a potential assassin—something he continued to struggle with—a little less hard. It was, of course, still painstakingly hard, but bearable; the opposite of the effect that his Newbie's gobsmacked expression had on him whenever he recalled the events that had unfolded only moments ago. A barely repressed shudder ran through him as he banished the thought away.

_A necessary evil, _his mind whispered to him as a reassurance of sorts, but the words just sounded bitter. He tried to keep himself there as they crossed the threshold into the make-shift sickbay, their detainees barely flinching at their presence, but his memories kept drawing him elsewhere. He relinquished himself to them, and almost immediately regretted it as he watched JD become slack-jawed, regarding him with widened eyes as the words left his lips. He averted his gaze; the look of absolute shock that awaited him when he next lifted his eyes was not something he wished to experience, especially not when JD's surprise gave way to the inevitable feeling of disgust and outrage as the sharp notes rose to his Newbie's throat. JD opened his mouth to speak—even without looking, and even only in a memory, Perry could feel the irritation boiling under the dark-haired doctor's skin—but the words never managed to leave his parted lips as Argyle broke the silence.

The words were twofold—double-exposed as his memory and reality became one with Argyle's deep voice as it carried across the hangar, resonating off of its magnificent structure.

"Come now, Perry."

Perry blinked, turning to Argyle as the older man repeated the words he had used to beckon him out of the hangar in the first place. Perry tried to decipher the knowing look in the older man's eyes, but it proved far too difficult. He'd never been able to figure him out, especially in the future when those same limitations between what was good and what was bad were blurred beyond recognition, and everyone sat comfortably with morally grey. Now, however, he had the added incentive of being plagued with that almost terrifying image of JD, staring at him with contempt as those damning words left his mouth involuntarily.

It was unforgivable, what he was about to do—what he had planned to do—and Perry knew that.

But it was also necessary, and it was all he could do to hope that maybe, one day, Newbie would be able to understand that. Where he was coming from, why he did what he had to do...

But he didn't hold his breath.

"Let us begin," Keith said, bowing his head in the direction of the detained soldiers. Argyle withdrew a vial of colourless liquid, which in itself provided him with far worse images than anything JD could do or say to him. The vial that now rested in the older man's hands chilled Perry to the bone. Bile rose to his throat as he considered what was about to occur, his mind divided between the possibility of having to watch the slow and silent torture unfold in front of him to ensure that it neither got out of hand, nor too placid, and the instinctual feeling of aborting the project himself, turning on his heel and running out of the room. He knew, deep within, that only the former would glean any result, positive or negative.

With this thought in mind, he turned to Keith and nodded.

"Begin your interrogation, Mr Neaylon."

* * *

It wasn't often that John Dorian got angry. Nobody was sure why, but the general consensus was that he hadn't been hugged enough as a child—as his parent's divorce and his brother's lack of support lay testament to. Doctor Cox's personal, unwavering theory was that JD was just a giant five-year-old girl—too young to be caught in the universal feeling of teenage angst, but too old for his untiring optimism to be called cute anymore. Whatever the reason, his lack of emotional response to events that would turn any ordinary man blind with murderous rage simply made the times when he actually _did_ get angry even more pronounced. Those there to witness these situations all seemed to agree one thing: _don't be the one he lays it onto._

As Jack and Jordan were quickly realising; this was one of those times.

JD's face had remained unshakably blank after the initial shock of those words wore off. His eyes never left Doctor Cox's slumped frame, even as he opened the bulkhead door to follow the general and his assistant out of the room. _More like the torturer and the witness_, he thought vehemently once the auburn-haired man had disappeared from his line of sight. It was an unfair thought, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself. Of all the things he had learnt today—child-killing viruses, humanoid machines, sinister companies hell-bent on mass murder—it was the fact that Perry Cox was allowing another human to be thrown in the line of fire that tore him at the seams.

It wasn't something the man he knew would do. It wasn't even something the man he knew would _consider_,even if they had attacked them first. Despite his strong narcissistic tendencies, Doctor Cox would never endeavour to take another human life. Never.

As he turned to face the remaining to occupants of the room, his blood sang in his veins, bringing out the worst of him. For Jack and Jordan, the look of grim determination on his face was coupled with barely contained anger as he regarded them. Jack looked distinctly surprised at JD's reaction, but Jordan simply met his eyes with the same, smooth confidence she was renowned for. Her gaze was unwavering and indecipherable, even when the words left JD's mouth in a hiss.

"You better have a good explanation for this."

It was a sight, to say the least. Jordan had seen it before, of course, as the window in time that her visions provided did not simply go one way. She knew all about John Dorian—his conquests and his failures, his desires and his repulsions, his strengths and his weaknesses—but she had never known him to get so angry so quickly. He held her ex-husband in high regard, she knew, and their futures were interconnected in spite of all variables, but this...

She could not find a word for this. The most fitting would be betrayal, but the emotions that played out on the young doctor's face revealed that the ties ran deeper than that.

To JD, she spoke quickly, knowing quite well when she should avoid an eruption.

"Perry is doing what has to be done, DJ." When he still looked unconvinced, and more livid than ever, she was quick to add: "We _need_ this information. Without it, we're as good as dead."

The last comment seemed to break the spell that claimed JD, at least temporarily. The anger was still etched in his face, but his body deflated as he collapsed into an empty chair just shy of Jack's right. He pressed a hand wearily against his face, shielding his eyes from view. "I know," he said after a pregnant silence. The words were laced with pain, frustration and exhaustion and for the first time in a long time, Jordan felt a stab of pity for the young man who was beginning to look more and more like his world had just crumbled before his very eyes. In some ways, she figured it had. "I know."

He moved his hand down his face to stare at Jordan, eyes widening beneath furrowed eyebrows as he fought to contain the emotions that continued to test his control.

"But it's just _wrong_. You know as well as I do that it goes against everything he believes in."

Jordan felt a crack appear in her mask of diplomacy; unwelcome, unbidden but inevitably there. It took longer than it should have for her to regain herself, but when she did, it simply strengthened her resolve. Facing JD, looking thoroughly annoyed, Jordan pursed her lips. "You think we don't know that, DJ?" She saw him flinch at her tone of voice. Her anger simmered somewhat, but she pressed onwards. "You think Perry doesn't? You have no idea what he's been through, no idea. Not even Jack and I know the half of it. So stop feeling like he's wronged you in some way by willing to cross the line and do what's right for the needs of the many, and toughen up. The world doesn't revolve around your petty feelings. It's changed, and those changes will soon become for the worst if we don't do this. You might not be happy about it, but don't you dare question what's happening here. It's not easy and it sure as hell isn't right, but it needs to be done."

Her eyes never left the face of the dark-haired doctor, not even when he averted his gaze and unclenched his hands—which had tightened into fists on either side of him as she spoke—as all the anger drained from his face. The emotion that replaced it was one Jordan could not decipher, but the moment she saw it, she knew she'd have no more issues with JD's acceptance of the situation. He didn't understand it, and perhaps he never would, but if there was something they all could comprehend, then it was the seriousness of the situation. JD had let that go, for a moment, as his anger swallowed him, but recognition bled back into his face as he rose to meet her eyes.

"What do you need me to do?"

The sides of Jordan's mouth curved upwards. Her answer, though simple, was of the utmost importance.

"Survive."

JD nodded, offering Jordan a hesitant smile. She returned it with her trademark smirk, but her face was devoid of any mockery as she settled back into her chair with a sense of achievement. JD turned to talk to Jack in light, friendly chatter, leaving Jordan to her own devices as she considered the unique situation presented before her. It would take longer than this, she knew, to mould JD into the saviour they needed, but it was a start. She glanced up to see the look of barely camouflaged frivolity on her son's face as he showed JD how the network that surrounded them operated and realised that it was the happiest she'd seen him in days.

Perhaps their mission wasn't so futile after all.

* * *

Some time later, JD found himself accosted with a barrage of questions that simply would not fade from his mind. He turned to Jordan, who was looking at Jack with a softened look on her face; a combination of curiosity and affection that lightened her features. _God forbid I ever tell her that, though_, he thought, remembering what happened last time somebody decided to tell Jordan she looked soft. Good intentions or not, it hadn't ended well, especially for those there to see it.

For a moment, he forgot what it was he wanted to ask her, simply settling into watching her watch Jack. That is, until she noticed his scrutiny and stared back at him with an expression on her face that clearly demanded he explain.

Panicking, he said the first thing he could think of, which was luckily the first thing he was going to say to her anyway. "Doctor Cox told me I was the one who found the cure to the virus."

The words came out in a rush, but Jordan understood them well enough. She nodded curtly, an action that clearly meant for him to continue speaking. He was silent, however, looking at her expectantly until he realised that the question that stemmed from his exclamation was obvious to him, but not necessarily obvious to everyone else. "So..." At long last, he spoke. "Did it work?"

Jordan looked slightly surprised at the question. _Definitely not obvious then,_ JD thought, grimacing slightly as she remained silent. It was then, however, that Jack began to speak, saving them all from the awkward pause that would follow.

"The cure was experimental," the boy said, shrugging, "I don't know much about it, since you and Dad kept to yourselves a lot—the less we know, the better, he said—but I did see the results."

JD nodded. "And?"

Jack shrugged again.

"It worked on some, but not on others."

JD nodded again, realising that this was to be expected with any type of vaccination, especially if it was experimental. Different body times catered to different medication, the same way that somebody liked the taste of one food, but not the other, although not necessarily with the same amount of choice. It was all a matter of biology, and there was no way that one experiment would yield such high results as to work on the entire population. Still, it was a little disheartening, and JD felt for those he hadn't been able to treat. Similarly, he considered those that he _wouldn't_ be able to treat, in the event that he could actually recreate the cure. His job would definitely have been made much easier if he—

The dark-haired doctor froze, his train of thought coming to an abrupt halt as realisation dawned on him. After his initial shock faded, his mind whirred to life as he clenched his jaw in concentration. It was something he had, of course, noticed, but nothing he'd ever thought to ask about. Perhaps it was the effect of one too many science fiction shows he'd watched with Turk, the same ones that warned them of the risk associated with meeting your future self, or just simple logic, but it never crossed his mind to ask about his own presence within the dystopian future Jordan, Doctor Cox and Jack so eagerly wished to change. Now, however, his curiosity got the better of him.

When he turned to Jordan and opened his mouth to speak, he couldn't keep the note of accusation out of his voice. "Why didn't I come back with you?"

The worried frown that had crossed over his face as he asked the question only deepened upon seeing the look that Jack and Jordan exchanged with one another. The curiosity flared deep within his stomach as he waited anxiously for their reply.

In the end, however, he was doomed to be unsatisfied.

"I thought you in all your nerdish glory would know this already, RJ," Jordan stated, sounding distinctly stiff. JD wondered if he'd hit a nerve, as she hadn't sounded so sarcastic in a while, but a moment later Jordan sighed, looking tired. "It's one thing to know about the events of the future, and another matter entirely to know your _own_ future. It ends up getting far too emotional for everybody, and nobody is the exception to that rule."

After a moment of subdued silence, she added: "Not even me."

JD realised his mistake. The topic was too close to comfort, especially in Jordan's case. He nodded in acceptance; though he wasn't sure he accepted the answer at all. Jordan had a point, of course, but then, she always did. He'd lay the matter to rest, for now, but later on he planned to do a little research of his own. He wasn't one to plunge head-first in unchartered territory, especially when warned against it, but this was different from any other situation. This was something he _needed_ to know.

_What happened to me?_

Though he'd promised to keep those thoughts for later, JD considered how he'd go about his plan. Hijack one of Jack's computers, perhaps? The idea soon turned into a full-blown fantasy, fitted with its own background track that sounded vaguely like a mix of Mission Impossible, the Terminator and Jurassic Park. Why the latter, he did not know, but it managed to entertain him for a few, long minutes until his train of thought derailed with the entrance of Doctor Cox and the General.

The first thing JD noticed was how tired the man looked. Doctor Cox's weathered face stared back at them; looking not unlike he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. By comparison, the General looked animatedly around the room, the arrogant smirk on the older Cox's face so reminiscent of his nephew that JD had to stifle a laugh, disguising it as a cough at the last moment. Argyle's eyes flickered over to his, but Doctor Cox stared resolutely ahead, which was the second thing he noticed. The auburn-haired man didn't look at him at all; instead, he began to talk to Jack in a rushed whisper, indicating to the massive sphere suspended in the middle of the room. As Jack had explained it, the sphere held years upon years of information and was the only thing powering the workstations and, consequentially, their mission. JD shook off the thoughts and instead watched as the father and son began to bounce ideas of one another, still speaking in low tones.

Jack turned and sat back on his seat, turning to type rapidly into the computer in front of him. Doctor Cox leaned on the chair, peering over Jack's shoulder as the boy entered lines of programming code into the machines. It seemed to be something they were all familiar with—Jack increased the speed of his typing with every line of code that appeared on the monitor, his eyes glued to the screen as he recounted the knowledge stored deep within his memory, Doctor Cox nodded in sporadically, as if reading Jack's writings with the fluency of an expert. Jordan watched them all with a detached sort of interest, while Argyle stared at the screen with a wicked grin on his face, as if knowing what was about to occur before it did.

It was only upon looking at them that JD realised he was the odd one out. It was, after all, a Cox family affair.

Before he could let this knowledge get to him, a hand rested itself on his shoulder, JD turned to see Ben's kind face beaming down at him and motioned towards the exit. JD nodded in understanding and, with a last forlorn look back at the other four, left the room in favour for the winding hallways flanked by bulkhead doors and flickering lights. Ben wheeled him into a room on the side, which JD recognised as the sick bay. Before Ben could pull him away, JD got a good look at the sick bay's patients—they were all looking worse for wear, but with no sign of injury bar that they received in the initial fight. There were no newly twisted fingers, detached mumblings or broken bones. Everything, it seemed, was in order, as if none of them had been touched in the first place.

Then he saw the shadow a figure lying inert on a table, covered only by a thin sheet. JD shuddered, but had long since promised himself not to make assumptions. If Doctor Cox would ever look at him again, perhaps he'd try and get the man to explain the soldier's death, but for now, he remained silent as he followed Ben to the opposite side of the room where a black burn scarred the metal plating across the wall. _Looks like I got roped into repairing the damage, _he realised. Surprisingly, it didn't bother him. Even more surprising was the fact that he registered that it was probably Doctor Cox himself who asked Ben to take JD along with him without any sort of self-pity attack.

_I've gotten far too use to Doctor Cox leaving me out of things, I guess. I've also gotten far too used to not caring about it._

"What do you need me to do?" he asked, quietly, as Ben knelt down to inspect the damage. The other man was silent for a few moments before he tutted softly, fingering the jagged hole that the gunfire had created with almost unnatural delicacy. JD chanced a look at the hole over Ben's shoulder, and grimaced at the charred remains. He didn't need to be a structural engineer to know that this didn't look good.

When Ben looked up, his face was the epitome of seriousness—a neutral look that, if JD was honest with himself, would have fit anybody _but_ Ben. What followed after was a long, yet concise explanation of what they needed to do, also strangely out-of-character for a man JD had always admired for his cheerful, somewhat ridiculous attitude. Still, he got to the point quick enough, and the two made quick work of deciphering the mesh of burnt wires that connected to the back of the electrical unit. It wasn't until they got to the point where JD watched as Ben worked that the two spoke and even then, it was small, idle chatter.

That is, until JD gathered the courage to ask: "How are you, you know, _you_?"

The question was a conundrum in itself and JD cursed the garbled mesh of words that left his mouth. Ben, however, seemed to consider the question in length and, for the most part, understood what it was JD wished to ask. He fixed the dark-haired doctor with a dazzling smile which, in turn, lifted the corners of JD's mouth into an upwards curve. Ben had that effect on people, he realised; machine or no.

Ben chuckled softly to himself. "Admittedly, Jack didn't explain it very well." JD felt his own smile widen upon glimpsing the fondness that crossed his face when he spoke of the boy that was his nephew and also, coincidentally, his creator. "But I won't bore you with the mechanics of it. It would take too long to describe and most of it would go over your head."

He accompanied those words with a small, apologetic half-smile which JD took to mean that he meant no offence when saying those words, but it had never even crossed his mind to be offended by what Ben had said. Who could take offence to Ben Sullivan, after all? Even if the person before him was only an echo of whom he truly was—something he knew Jordan firmly believed was true—in JD's mind he was still that charming, somewhat childish man that, admittedly, stood far too close for comfort and snapped one too many pictures in his day, but was also one of the most honest and funny people he had ever met. Ben just wasn't a person to say things out of spite.

And so JD just nodded. "Definitely."

Ben grinned, visibly relaxed, and JD marvelled at how real he expressed the emotion. Then his eyebrows furrowed.

"In truth, we're almost at this stage already. It's not something many people realise, unless you're actually the ones working on the prototypes." He looked up inquisitively, to see if JD was following him. When he seemed to get his answer, his entire demeanour seemed to change. He relaxed into the same, carefree slouch that he had adapted during his time at the hospital and fixed JD with an excited grin. "Did you know that scientists in Japan have actually created a robot that fluently plays the violin? That's not even the good part, though. Apparently it can understand and even adapt to new pieces. It might not seem relevant when you first think about it, but if you take a moment to consider what it means—_that's_ when it really hits you. This robot can learn new things, things far out of the reach of its programming. Modern media spoils the true brilliance of what we've already achieved by making our expectations of the future so high we can't even possibly begin to imagine that it's true. But it is. And guess what?"

JD shot him a gigantic grin, beginning to feel the first stirrings of excitement as he watched Ben's enthralled face. "What?"

"In eight to ten years, we'll be there."

JD gave him a calm smile, letting the weight of the information flow over him. He would never have imagined that this would be true, and _he_ was the one who had all of the implausible fantasies. Despite how relieving the calm that settled over them was, anticipation threatened to burn a hole in his stomach. "So we really get that far, considering all that happens?"

Ben nodded. "Just because an epidemic strikes doesn't mean people stop living. The future is a bleak, dark place, but there's always hope." After a moment of letting that settle in, he grinned. "It's cheesy, but true."

Even with the weight of what would soon occur resting on his mind, JD felt relieved. Knowing that there were still people who cared enough to push past the barrier of pain and live was enough to pacify him for the moment. More so, that there were people like Doctor Cox and Jack who cared enough about the needs of the many that they'd go back and change it all in a selfless attempt to make life better. They would complete this mission, and they would do so successfully. If it meant he had to spend years working towards a cure for the virus, he would do so. He would devote everything; _do_ anything in his power to stop the future from happening. He had to.

JD blinked and wondered if this was how Doctor Cox felt when he made the decision to go back. This raw, overpowering passion to change made him feel closer to the auburn-haired man than anything else that day and he knew, in that moment, that he had to apologise for his refusal to accept the older doctor's actions. His mentor was in an impossible situation, the likes of which JD didn't dare think of, and he'd performed impeccably so far. JD could only hope to be half the man that Doctor Cox was for doing this.

It was quick work from that point on as JD found himself holding back the charred metal as Ben soldered the wire back into place. After long last, Ben nodded towards the newly fixed electrical unit. "That should do it," he said with a smile. "Good work, JD."

JD couldn't resist smiling back; falling under the influence of something he decided to call the Ben Effect. "Thanks."

They walked back down the hallway and towards the main hangar in silence, but instead of the awkwardness that preceded their lengthy conversation, the quietude was a welcoming, comforting aspect to the walk back. Ben opened the bulkhead door and indicated to JD to pass through first. When he did so, and Ben made their arrival known by swinging the door tightly shut, everyone in the room turned around to see their arrival.

JD was met with a calm smile from Jack, who immediately began explaining what they were doing. "This is going to be really cool," he exclaimed as JD moved to peer over his shoulder. "One of the soldiers gave us a way to track the Collective agents using the Juvenile virus."

JD's eyebrows rose. _This_ was news. "How?"

He'd directed the question to Jack, who had begun to open his mouth, but was actually answered by Doctor Cox, who turned to speak to him for the first time in so many hours. His tone radiated seriousness, but the look on his face was relaxed as he considered him.

"The brilliance of the Juvenile virus is that nobody can prevent themselves from contracting it, even members of the Collective. However, while they may have the virus, something about their biological make-up removes the attack on the immune system entirely."

JD stared at him for a long moment while the words sunk in. Doctor Diagnosis rushed to interpret them and after long last, the dark-haired doctor blinked. "So," he began carefully. "They aren't infected by the virus the way other people are, but it's still in their system?"

Doctor Cox nodded.

"Like a carrier, you mean?"

Jack turned on his swivel chair, his smile growing wider. "Exactly."

JD squelched the sudden overwhelming urge to sit on the chair beside him and copy his movements, realising that despite his and Jack's excitement, there was no place in this room for immaturity. As if realising this at the exact same moment, Jack stopped and adapted a matured tone. "We're calibrating the program now, and it should only be minutes before the main terminal is ready to begin the preliminary scan."

JD nodded and, though slightly confused, left Jack to his own devices. The teenager turned around and immediately began typing again, adding to the lines of programming code already displayed on the screen. After a few minutes of watching Jack work, his fingers flying across the keyboard without pause, JD shifted his eyes to Doctor Cox, only to find the older doctor looking straight at him. Unbidden and unwelcome, JD's face flushed under the scrutiny, heat rising to his face faster than usual under the weight of Doctor Cox's blue-eyed stare.

He was planning to look away, but before the thought even rose to his mind, Doctor Cox's lips descended into a contemplative frown. He stepped forward into JD's personal space without a second thought, their faces only inches apart. The young doctor flinched at the proximity, not willing to admit that this version of Doctor Cox scared him just a little, but unable to stop his reaction. Seeing the tremor, the downward curve of the taller man's lips grew even more pronounced.

"We need to talk," he whispered and, without preamble, stepped back. JD nodded, moving to follow him towards the hangar bay door.

Just as they were approaching the entrance, however, there was a deep grinding sound, almost as if two pieces of metal had just interlocked together. Doctor Cox stopped in his tracks, just as he heard Jack shout: "I've got it!" JD stopped next to him, waiting to see what Doctor Cox would do. When the older man made no indication of moving out of the room or carrying on the conversation he had intended, JD began to walk back towards the cluster of people in the middle of the room.

What happened next, as they were still walking to the middle of the hangar, made JD's jaw drop.

The sphere in the middle of the room began to rise, lifting up off of its metal bearings and suspending in mid-air as if being held up by something—or someone—invisible. Or, JD considered after a moment, by nothing at all. There was a whirring—not unlike the sound that Jack's computers made when trying to process heavy sections of its programming—and the warehouse was bathed in light. The dark sphere glowed in an amazing myriad of colour, containing so many different shades on so many levels of interpretation that it was virtually impossible to name which colour it actually was. Ever so slowly, the glowing sphere began to turn, the rotation growing in speed as the minutes passed.

"How long?" Doctor Cox called out, breaking the overwhelming silence that had flooded the room.

Before Jack could speak, Ben turned to look at them. His eyes were glazed over, but as JD shifted closer to him, he saw that his expression wasn't blank at all. Rather, it was as if lines of information had appeared in front of his eyes, his face contorting into a look of deep concentration. It amazed him more than anything else he had seen that day, Ben's transformation abilities included. The other man was truly a work of art, so lifelike yet so utterly bizarre.

"Tell me what you're thinking." The voice came from behind him, a dainty hand moving to clasp his shoulder. JD turned to see Jordan staring at him with a contemplative expression, studying him much like he was studying Ben.

When JD spoke, it was nothing but the honest truth. "These things should only happen in movies," he said, indicating to Ben and Doctor Cox, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. His eyes drifted to the sphere, still gyrating in the middle of the room. Its light bathed the warehouse in an ethereal glow. "Or my fantasies. But I can't find it in myself to be freaked out about it, mostly because I know that the situation is so sinister that this can be nothing but real life. Movies, daydreams—they have morals. There's no moral to this: what's happened in the future and what's happening now, except survival."

He turned to look at Jordan, expecting her to scoff at the melodrama in the statement. Instead, she met his eyes silently and without a single hint of mockery over her sharp features or in her voice as she spoke. "Perhaps we're not all dead after all."

JD nodded, not even attempting to decipher what the words meant. He had long since accepted that he was destined to be confused, at least when it came to the Cox family and their riddles. He was much too pleased with having even a small part in completing their mission, getting to be an active aspect in something so much bigger than himself that confusion seemed a small price to pay for the connections he had begun to establish between everybody in the room.

"Twenty seconds!" Jack called, raising a hand to point to the sphere as he scanned the information flashing across the screen. "Nineteen, eighteen..."

"What's going to happen?" JD whispered to Jordan, all the while staring at Jack's outstretched hand flailing with every descending number.

Jordan followed his gaze. "There will be a pulse of light, which scans the surrounding area for carriers of the virus. There shouldn't be any positive readings, though, since the scan only returns live results and, as Perry explained it, only two of the men on the team that attacked us had any idea what was going on. The rest of them were independent contractors, hired to flesh out the attack, thereby not connected in any way but association to the Collective."

JD nodded, struck by surprise once again at the depth of Jordan's knowledge. He supposed Jack had told her most of it, but the fact that she could grasp and, more importantly, _understand_ such information simply boggled JD's mind. He had definitely underestimated her by a long shot. _In fact, _he considered as he scanned the room, _I think I've underestimated everyone here._

The dark-haired doctor had no time to continue down his train of thought as he reflected on each member of their rag-tag group, as it was then that Jack began the five second count down.

"..._Five_, four, three, two..."

The sphere pulsated, almost jovially, as it buffered the electricity. JD stared up in utter amazement—the tendrils of electric white light marking its way through the myriad of colours that lit the sphere, splitting off into tangents like blood coursing through the veins of a living, breathing entity. He could almost see the build-up of this light, glowing amazingly before him in the split second he had before—

"...One."

There was a brilliant flash as the main terminal discharged the collective amount of energy it had gathered from its rotation. The warehouse was flooded with light before the beam extended outwards, making its way across the factory floor. As it passed him, JD felt his entire body tingle with the electricity in the pulse. It was an unusual, but not unwelcome feeling. It felt foreign, but warm—like the embrace of a stranger, or the first bite of a meal after a long, tiring day. Every one of his senses were supercharged, and it felt like he could hear, feel see, taste and smell everything in the single instant that the light consumed him. It passed on effortlessly, and JD turned around to watch it go as it was pushed away from the middle of the room and further across the complex.

When the white spots that played out across his vision finally faded and the warehouse fell back to its rickety, overhead lighting, JD gauged the reactions of everybody else in the room. Jack's face was lit up with excitement as he grinned at Jordan, whose delicate features had twisted into an unusual display of surprise that disappeared the moment she lifted her eyes to her son, and then to Doctor Cox, who looked oddly unperturbed by what had just occurred. The most entertaining of expressions was, by far, provided by the General and his assistant—both of them stared in abject horror at Jack, whose smile widened impossibly at the shock mirrored on their faces.

Ben, it seemed, had returned to reality. Jack's grin faded somewhat as he glanced expectantly over at him, but returned brighter than ever when Ben declared, with a wink: "One hundred percent success on all counts, kiddo."

Jack nodded to JD, who couldn't resist the smile that was tugging on his lips.

While Jack turned back to his terminal, presumably to collate the results of the scan, JD's mind raced. He could feel a familiar thrill dance over him—the same burst of feeling that took him whenever he realised something big—as it dawned on him for about the twenty-fifth time that day about how unreal a situation he was actually in. He assumed even now that it hadn't really hit him yet, but then, how could he ever realise—let alone come to terms with—the full scope of what was occurring here? Even if he knew everything, which he most certainly did not, he still wasn't sure if he could accept it. Sure, he'd believe it—he believed it almost straight away—but accepting it? That would take a little longer, which was saying a lot for someone who was as optimistic and open as he was.

JD stopped thinking the moment his eyes happened across Jack's face and widened when he took in the look of anguish on the fair-haired teenager's face. He turned, and JD almost gasped at the absolute transformation his face had underwent. The last time he had seen such a look was on Doctor Cox's face in the terrifying aftermath of Jill Tracey's death. When Jack spoke, his voice was a hushed whisper, sounding almost terrified as he stammered: "M-Mom, you better have a look at this."

Jordan came up beside Jack to peer at the information flashing across the screen. JD found himself unable to look away as the expression on her face grew grave, her breath catching in her throat as she appeared to have read the same thing that had thrown Jack into such a tailspin. She shook her head, seemingly in shock. Then, as fear began to rise from the pit of his stomach to rest as a deep and heavy weight in his chest, Jordan turned to meet his eyes.

No matter how well he braced himself, nothing could prepare him for the words that tumbled from Jordan's lips.

"You've been tested positive, DJ."

JD was frozen in the spot, not quite sure how to go about processing this information. It appeared everyone else in the room was having a similar experience until somebody's stupor abruptly broke. JD didn't realise what had happened until the warehouse door slammed open.

He turned just in time to see Doctor Cox's billowing black coat disappear in the doorway before the bulkhead closed and silence reigned across the warehouse.

_I can't get it right,  
Get it right since I met you.  
Loneliness be over,  
When will loneliness be over?  
__  
I can't get it right._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Cue dramatic music—_now._ The scene with JD and Ben was never planned, but I felt I really needed to provide an explanation about how suddenly this story took a major science-fiction, warped-reality turn. The information provided is mostly true—one of the many things I learnt from my brilliant boyfriend, who seems to have taken a liking to the plot for this story. Other than that, I honestly don't know what to write here. Feedback is much loved, and makes me write quicker, though I definitely won't hold chapter's hostage for reviews or any of that crazy stuff. Happy author equals happy reader equals happy author, after all. 'Tis the circle of life. Or something like that. See you next time, and I hope you enjoyed Chapter IX.

_-- Exangeline._


	12. The Revelation

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, perhaps not even any semblance of a plot. Lyrics in this arc belong to the band Muse, who has been one of my most constant companions throughout these past few years.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Thank you all so much for the amazing reception last chapter. Everyone was so understanding, even with the massive time delay between the two chapters. On the bright side, this chapter didn't take two months for me to write. On the dull side, I'm divided. I'm reaching a fork in the road, wherein I can either finish this quickly by following one route, but make this story so much more interesting, complex and a bit darker by going in the other direction. The latter would explain a lot of events that occur, especially what the Collective has to do with all of this, but it will bring an entire new arc to the story. It is also Not Nice. However, it's still a little ways away and after a short interlude that will knock the socks off some people, there will be the confrontation (and answers) we've all been waiting for.

As a parting note—I didn't exactly get to review this before I posted it, since I wanted to get it to you guys as soon as humanly possible, so if there are any typos, please forgive me. And maybe even tell me, if you feel like it. Otherwise, enjoy!

Lyrics adapted from the song _Butterflies and Hurricanes_ by Muse_._

* * *

**CHAPTER X: THE REVELATION**

_Best, you've got to be the best,  
You've got to change the world  
And give this chance to be heard -  
Your time is now._

Seeing his apartment for the first time in days should have been relieving, but it wasn't. Instead of envisioning a warm bed and a lazy afternoon, JD's mind played out a terrifying scene—of black ghouls flickering in the corner of his eye, just waiting for the moment his mind couldn't take anymore before they abruptly ended his life. The chaos didn't end there. Rivaling the overwhelming shock of just having being tested positive for a child-killing virus that shouldn't even have been invented yet was JD's intense worry for the future counterpart of his mentor. He hadn't seen Doctor Cox since the older man stormed out of the warehouse upon receiving the results of the scan. JD was sure—now more than ever—that there was something really strange going on with him, and he wanted nothing more than to find out what that something was.

Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have other ideas.

Upon being subject to a round of grueling medical exams—conducted by Ben and Jordan, the latter of which seeming as put-out by all of this as he did, to JD's surprise—he was ordered back to his apartment to get some rest, with Ben following him home for protection. At first, JD had argued against both factors, but the loud yawn that escaped his lips upon beginning the debate forced him to grudgingly see the logic in the request. Jordan, once she had regained herself, told him that he wouldn't begin to show symptoms until another day at least.

As for his new personal bodyguard, Jordan had simply raised an eyebrow and stared at him in silence until JD was forced to remember what brought him here in the first place—the attack brought on by brothers Daniel and Patrick Knott. Sensing that he had no hope of getting out of this one, JD went along with it, remaining silent for majority of the ride back home.

Ben didn't seem to mind the quietude, for the most part, but his eyes were bright with a concern that looked disturbingly real. JD found it all too easy to relax around the big guy, and the idea that this was a machine and not the real, bona-fide Ben Sullivan driving him home never ceased to surprise him. He knew he should probably see him for what he really was—metal, wiring and electricity all molded into one to create a living, breathing computer—but it became harder and harder as the day's events took their toll on him.

Despite the shock and concern that was sending his mind into overdrive, JD found it difficult to refuse the reprieve that sleep provided him, especially when it was so willingly given after a hard day. He mumbled a half-hearted farewell to Ben, who was perched on the sofa reading a medical journal he had left lying around, and almost collapsed into bed. He just managed to undress himself before the exhaustion caught up with him and the blackness swallowed up the remainder of his doubts.

JD slept. He dreamt.

The world gyrated out of control, flooding the room with colour in the way only a dream could. JD widened his eyes against the swirling conundrum of blues, greens, reds and purples dancing in the space before him. It took a long moment for comprehension to dawn on him, as a thick blur covered most of the detail, but as his dream-self blinked to sharpen the image, he realized exactly what it was he was seeing.

It was the sphere—the gargantuan circle of light and sound he had been introduced to not hours before, rotating in a slow, careful orbit before him.

He reached out, all of a sudden desperate to touch its moving surface, but the sphere dissipated in front of his eyes, as did the room around him. After a brief moment of vertigo, his feet hit the ground. He blinked again, watching the lines and colours slow in their spin as the world righted itself. The room was cold and empty, barricaded by a thick, steel door.

JD knew exactly where he was.

What he didn't know is why his dream took him _here_, of all places. Unable to refuse the bubbling curiosity welling deep within his chest, JD took a step towards the middle of the room. His bare feet hit the smooth, tiled floor but he managed to remain mostly unchanged by the drop in temperature that the sterile room provided.

His mind's representation of Sacred Heart's morgue was utterly accurate, down to the battered tray of medical equipment that Doug kept tripping over whenever Doctor Cox stormed the room as of late. The only thing that seemed to be out of sorts was the lack of bodies, which JD was actually quite thankful for. He didn't want to think about the dead, even in the dream. He didn't want to think of how close he became to being one of them—cold and pale, lying motionless on the slab below.

As his mind reluctantly brushed upon the subject of the Juvenile virus, something strange attacked JD's vision. He turned, trying to get a grip on the situation, fighting the sudden onslaught of dizziness that threatened to overcome his vision. Somehow, he managed to right himself, just in time to see a metal slab appear in the middle of the room.

JD jumped back, startled, and tripped, falling to his knees.

The battered tray hit the floor beside him, scattering Doug's tools across the smooth, cold surface.

JD scrambled quickly to his feet, but was slow to approach the slab. When he finally did, he rested his hands against the outer rim of the metal table, thoughts stirring in him like wildfire. He was rather aware that this wasn't real—after all, how could it be? People didn't just_ appear_ in the morgue. If they were alive, they walked in, if they were dead, they were wheeled in—but he couldn't deny that there was something deeper here. Something else was controlling this dream, allowing JD to move as he would move if he were awake, granting him lucidity.

He wasn't sure if he wanted it.

Still, his doubts could not sway him from the dawning belief that this was somehow important to him. No matter how uncomfortable he felt, he needed to do this. He _had_ to.

And so, with bated breath, JD removed the thin sheet that cast the body into a silhouette, praying that the corpse wasn't his own.

It wasn't.

Daniel Knott's gaunt face stared up at him. His eyes were closed and his body was completely still, but JD couldn't resist the shiver that ran down his spine as he glimpsed upon the motionless body. The dead still made him shudder, despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that he was a doctor and dealt with death on a day-to-day basis. No doctor liked to see patients die, no matter how strange or sinister they were.

He grimaced, but didn't look away from the slab, lest it disappear. There was something to be learned here, he knew—something that played a pivotal role in things to come. He was no Jordan, but he knew what he felt and he trusted that instinct. It had saved lives in the past, and perhaps it would work towards saving his own. His mind flitted across the possibilities of a cure, one he was supposed to create. _But how?_

_And what importance does Knott have to its development?_

It was then that he felt the disorientating feeling of being pulled back and far too late did he realize what was happening. The dream was coming to a close and, as such, he was waking up.

_No! Not yet!_

It was no use. Knott's body began to blur beneath him. JD looked up to see the room gyrating around him before the steel walls faded into a shattering, bright white.

When JD woke, the first thing he noticed was that his body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat that had gone cold during the course of the night. His head pounded with a viciousness he hadn't felt in a long time, and the faint aura that burdened his sight told him he should soon expect the pounding to evolve into a migraine. As he brushed his damp hair from his face, JD noticed his hands were shaking in light tremors, but dismissed it as a side-effect of his dream.

Steadying his breathing, JD attempted to sit up, only to release a groan when his muscles tightened painfully. It took him all too long to recognize that these must be the first symptoms of the virus. _If so,_ he mused,_ I really don't want to feel it in full effect._ Despite the joking manner of his thoughts, JD knew the bubbling hysteria that was rising to his throat was the precursor to a nervous breakdown.

To divert his brain's attention from the pain that flooded his system as he stood shakily to his feet and made his way towards the bathroom, JD thought back on the dream, pondering its meaning. There was a connection, he knew, between Daniel Knott's death, his mission and the Juvenile virus. Instead of frustrating himself by trying to figure out what he didn't know, like he had been doing for the past few days, JD decided to think back on what he _did_ know.

"I know that the Knott's were sent back to kill me because I was the one to create the cure," he began slowly to himself, pacing the length of the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand. "But why _warn_ me?" The question had been plaguing him for a long time. He knew Patrick Knott only disclosed that information to him because he was certain that he'd be dead before he understood its meaning, but Daniel Knott had no such security. There was nothing he could have done to JD in front of Doctor Cox that would ensure that JD would take the information to his death. He had done the very opposite to what he wished to achieve—he had warned JD of a threat against his life instead of acting on the element of surprise that worked to his advantage. As shrouded in mystery as that warning was, the still remained that Daniel Knott _had_ warned him.

Of course, this train of thought just led him back to the same question.

_Why?_

Perhaps it was a cruel taunt, a trick to make JD feel unsafe and unsure of himself before his brother struck—perhaps Daniel Knott knew he was going to die before JD could reach him, and that this information would only serve to make him paranoid? But before he had even finished that thought process, JD knew that there was one major flaw in that idea, which was that Knott had no way of knowing how long JD would spend thinking about what he had said before deciding to confront him with his thoughts. Again, it was a matter of security. "No," he whispered to nobody in particular. "He had another reason, another motive for saying what he said. But _what?"_

JD's toothbrush fell to the floor with a resounding _clack._ As he bent to pick it up, he watched his hands shudder under the weight of the disease that now flooded through his veins.

And all at once, it hit him.

He had had the right idea all along, it seemed—that the flaw in his theories was a matter of security. What, then, would make Knott feel secure in his knowledge that JD was going to die, that their mission would be completed? He couldn't rely on his brother, not completely, but perhaps his own actions were not as innocent as he had thought?

JD shook his head, a bitter smile rising to his lips. He had figured it out. It all made sense now.

He felt stupid—utterly stupid—for not realizing it before. He had spent hours while being poked and prodded by Ben and Jordan wondering exactly _how_ he had managed to contract the Juvenile virus and never once did he consider that it could have been Knott's true motive after all. It all made sense—if they went back in time to spread the virus, then it was almost self-fulfilling. They would be secure in their knowledge that they will successfully make the virus, because they already did. Plus, they had the added bonus of infecting the man who was supposed to find the cure, hindering his efforts—making him a walking time-bomb just waiting to explode.

It sure gave a new meaning to the phrase _'killing two birds with one stone'_.

"Looks like they succeeded in killing me after all," he whispered into the silence of the bathroom.

And in a strange haze of denial, self-pity and dark humor at the utter irony of his life, JD continued to get ready to face the day ahead.

* * *

JD fell into a strange mood for most of the day. His initial downheartedness had given way to a volley of dark feelings that swam around in his mind, but eventually his optimism managed to chase most of it away. He had no doubt that these few days very well could be his last, and while he would try to find this so-called cure to the Juvenile virus, he wasn't holding his breath. No, he was going to enjoy these next few days if it killed him.

_It might very well just do that,_ the voice in the back of his mind said. JD ignored it, alongside the pang of sadness that struck him when he realized how much that voice sounded like Doctor Cox.

Ben seemed startled by his sudden change in demeanor, but said nothing as JD went about making breakfast for himself. While pouring milk into his bowl of _Cheerios_, JD turned to Ben and asked: "What do robots eat, anyway?" Before Ben could reply, however, JD's head cocked to the side and for the first time in days, he had a real, carefree fantasy.

He came out of it shuddering. "I don't think I'll ever look at an oil can the same way again," he remarked, shaking his head before staring down at his bowl of cereal in disdain and replacing it with a piece of toast.

"So," he began around a mouthful of crust. "What's on the agenda for today?"

Ben simply blinked, looking stunned, and JD decided that it was a strange expression for him to be wearing. Not for the obvious reason—that robots really shouldn't feel surprised—but for the simple fact that Ben Sullivan was a person who always seemed confident in what he was doing or what he said. There was no hesitation in any of his actions. He lived life, he enjoyed it, and he laughed about it.

JD simply raised his eyebrows. Ben blinked, snapping out of his stupor. After staring at him with concern for a long moment, reminding JD strangely of Carla whenever she was in one of her mother-hen moods, Ben seemed to like what he saw on JD's face and relaxed into the chair across from him. "Sis wants us to go back to the warehouse to monitor you for a while, even though Jack has already found out that the strain of the infection you've contracted isn't contagious—" A tense part of JD that he hadn't even known was there seemed to crumple in relief upon hearing this. Meanwhile, Ben continued. "—After that, we can do whatever you want. I'd recommend relaxing, though."

JD grinned. "Thanks, but I think I've done enough sitting around these past two days to last a lifetime." He stood. "It's time I reunited myself with my peeps!"

Ben smiled wanly back at him. "Monitoring first," he said amusedly, much like a parent would direct a child to eating dinner before desert.

JD looked crestfallen, but bounced back quickly enough. "Maybe Doctor Cox will be there!"

Ben's smile faltered somewhat.

"Maybe," he repeated, but the look in his eyes told JD that that, at least, was a lost cause.

It was then that the first stirrings of real fear crept up on him. Still determined to live up to his reputation, however, JD affixed a smile to his face and let Ben escort him to their first destination.

* * *

"JD, Ben! Wait up!"

JD turned on his heel to see Jack scrambling to his feet, a wide grin on his face as he saw the two of them enter the hangar. Though it was a small gesture, Jack's excitement to see them made the smile on JD's face feel a little more genuine. That is, until they heard what he had to say next. Jack caught up with them, releasing a short breath as he slowed down but looking mostly unperturbed from his sprint across the vast room. "Have you found Dad yet?" He asked.

"No," JD said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. From the look on Jack's face, it wasn't working. Something occurred to him then. "Do you know where he might be?"

A small frown appeared between Jack's eyebrows as they furrowed in concentration. The boy grimaced for a moment, tugging on the hem of his long-sleeve shirt distractedly, but the expression was soon replaced with a wan smile. "I remember when we were at home, Dad used to stare at the sky from the observation deck in the safe-house when he wanted to think." The smile grew wider. "He used to let me sit with him, so long as I was perfectly quiet. Though knowing Dad, that rule didn't last long. He was usually the one to start talking first—about the sky, about the hospital, about Mom, about _you._" He motioned to JD, who was rather surprised to receive this information.

"We had some of our best talks there, at the safe-house." His nostalgic smile soon grew worried. "Of course, it isn't built yet, so I doubt that's where he is."

JD frowned. "Any other ideas?"

Jack shook his head.

"Nope. Dad would either look at the sky or work on his research, but he hasn't come back here and he couldn't go to the hospital without risking exposure so . . . I don't know," said Jack, shrugging.

JD opened his mouth to ask the next question that plagued his thoughts—namely, _what research did your Dad do?_—but was cut-off by the sound of the bulkhead door slamming open from behind them. JD turned around with the slightest of hopes that it was Doctor Cox who had entered the room and was now walking towards them. When Jordan came into his line of sight, however, he admitted how futile that hope was.

She cut to the chase.

"Ready, DJ?"

JD nodded and followed her into the small room off the side of the main hangar—the same place they had conducted yesterday's round of tests. As he watched Jordan fumble around with the tools, selecting those in which she would need for the examination, something occurred to him. Much like many of his revelations prior to that moment, he wondered why he had never considered asking this question before.

"Jordan," he began slowly. "Where did you get all of this medical equipment?"

She spun to look at him, showing no indication of being taken aback by the question. After a moment of consideration, she replied. "There's a laboratory down the hall. It was full of medical equipment, and built to be some sort of sterilized room."

"Who put it there?" asked JD, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "I certainly didn't. Perry and Jack said nothing about building it and even so, where would they have gotten the resources?" Before JD could reply, she continued, shaking her head slightly. "No. Most of these things—including the workstations and the sphere—were already here when we arrived. Jack tried to get the information out of them, but he didn't know the code. Instead, he decided to use his own hard-drive to get the machine working."

JD turned is head to the side, lost in thought.

"It looks like it was the Knott's, then," he said eventually, just as Jordan was getting ready to take his blood pressure. She raised her eyes to meet his, a look of consideration playing out on her sharp features.

She nodded. "It would make sense. They're the only other people who have come back with access to this type of technology. If the Collective had been planning this trip as long as we thought, then they'd have ample time to build what they needed to be sent back. It was a theory of Perry's that that was how they knew where to attack us, also, but then—there aren't many places for us to hide here where they do not have access to."

_Better here than anywhere else_, he thought, frowning in discomfort when the blood pressure band tightened around his arm. Jordan took a fleeting look at the machine's readings before scrawling it down on a notepad and stripping him off the band.

"All good?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Jordan nodded in reply, quickly bringing up the results of yesterday's tests that Jack had calibrated. JD smiled slightly upon hearing that news—Jack mightn't have known how to place an IV, but he sure knew how to do the research side of things. Jordan wasn't too bad herself, assuring him that having a father who used to be on Sacred Heart's board of directors after being a doctor himself for twenty-five years meant that she had learnt a few things herself. That, and the amassed knowledge she gained from her visions made her rather competent. With lack of experience, however, JD would still put her at intern level.

When he told her this jokingly, he was rather surprised when Jordan simply smiled and continued on with her examination.

The sarcastic barb came moments later, though.

"I still learnt a long time before you did, DJ."

JD grinned at that. Despite how much he liked knowing that Jordan had a soft side—as scarce and hidden as it might be—he still felt far more comfortable with the sharp, mocking personality she favored. She wouldn't be Jordan without it, he figured. As she gripped his arm like a vice, however, JD's grin faltered. _It might be nice if she could exercise a little bedside manner, though._

The moment he thought this, JD's mind sent him a volley of images. He saw Carla, a warm smile on her face as she chatted to an old Spanish lady who had fractured her wrist, then Elliot, holding a purple stuffed dog in her hand, making it walk across the bed before snuggling it in the crook of a tiny girl's neck with a hoot of laughter, then Turk, talking animatedly with a teenager about his favorite basketball team, then...

Then he saw Doctor Cox, falling into one of his full-blown rants as he talked to an eighteen-year-old boy about the responsibility he has to himself and his family, making the kid's eyes shine with unshed tears, before motioning to his little sister standing beside his bed and telling him he did good in protecting her. He sees Doctor Cox again, standing on the roof of Sacred Heart hospital, staring at the sky and whispering that he knew all too well about a father that took things too far.

JD's initial yearning to be with his friends was suddenly replaced with a deep, dawning realization. He turned to Jordan with widened eyes, a fevered question on his lips which died the moment he found her eying him knowingly.

_Of course,_ he thought, amused. _I doubt I even have to ask._

He didn't.

"Go," she said with a curt nod towards the door. "We're done here for now."

JD grinned in response, but the expression soon gave way to a small frown of determination that crossed his face, the most genuine expression he'd worn all day. He jumped off the examination table, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt before making his way towards the room's exit. Just as he was about to leave, however, Jordan called out to him.

"DJ?"

He stopped in his tracks to turn and meet Jordan's eyes, hoping against hope that she hadn't just found a reason to keep him there.

All she said, however, was a soft: "Bring him back."

JD nodded, feeling elation course though him as he broke into a run across the main hangar, passing Jack and Ben who exchanged a look of confusion but let him go. Jordan was quick to approach them, he saw, and to explain the situation. He couldn't hear what they said, however, as it was then he found himself running towards the massive fence that surrounded the complex, pulling open the wire door Ben had opened for him when they arrived, and sprinting towards Jordan's car, keys in hand.

_Sacred Heart, here I come._

* * *

In comparison to the turmoil of negative emotions he had felt upon arriving at his apartment the day before, JD felt nothing but relief when the tall structure of Sacred Heart hospital came into view. He was quick to park, favoring the staff parking lot instead of the visitors this time, and found himself at the front door feeling only the first stirrings of nervousness when he thought of what to say to Doctor Cox.

The thought had occurred to him, on the hurried trip over there, that Doctor Cox might not even be where he thought he was. This same thought stopped JD in his place, just as he was reaching towards the sensor pad that would trigger the automatic doors. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, mind racing, before shaking his head and burying the worry deep within the turmoil of his thoughts.

Even if Doctor Cox wasn't there, JD decided, he still had the obligation to look.

_Here goes nothing._

The doors parted. JD walked through them and felt his body instinctively relax, his hesitation growing lighter and lighter with every step forward. This was Sacred Heart, the hospital, his domain. For the first time in a long time, JD felt safe. Within these walls, nothing could harm him—at least, not without people noticing. There were always people there, people watching, people waiting. Nothing would go wrong.

"Nothing will go wrong," he breathed as he crossed the waiting room, sparing a glance towards Laverne sitting at the front desk. The voluptuous nurse simply raised an eyebrow upon seeing him, but said nothing when he smiled and walked past her. He could catch up with his colleagues later. _Doctor Cox comes first,_ he thought to himself, nodding resolutely as he crossed the floor towards the elevators.

Before he could enter the empty confines of the first elevator, a large hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him backwards. JD shrieked—in a perfectly manly way, of course—and spun around, just in time to hear the deep growl that emanated from his captor's chest. He felt his body tense, even before his brain registered the identity of the person in front of him. He'd know that growl from anywhere.

Still, JD couldn't help but blink when he saw the furious blue eyes of Doctor Cox—unfortunately not the one he wanted to find—glaring back into his.

_I guess Doctor Cox really _does_ come first._

Any humor derived from his mental statement was lost in the staring contest that seemed to run its course between JD and Doctor Cox. JD was vaguely aware of the elevator slamming shut behind him, but in that moment he couldn't bring himself to care. Doctor Cox looked livid, and JD attempted to retrace his steps in a feeble attempt to figure out whatever it was he had done to morally offend the man.

Strangely enough, he came up with nothing, but it didn't look like Doctor Cox was satisfied with that.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Until—

"Okay, okay!" JD exclaimed, cracking under prolonged exposure to Doctor Cox's icy glare. "What did I do?"

When the auburn-haired man said nothing, JD began to feel the beginnings of a new kind of anxiety flood through him. He had to make it to Doctor Cox, the future one, before he realized that JD was here for him and fled the scene. If, indeed, he was here in the first place, which was a question that wouldn't stop grating on his mind. He didn't have time for staring contests and silent accusations, especially when he didn't know what he did wrong.

JD stared, subdued, at the floor before lifting his eyes to meet Doctor Cox's. At the peak of his anxiety, he sighed, and managed to surprise himself when he realized the sigh didn't sound sad or worried at all. It sounded angry.

He didn't like to get angry.

_But,_ he considered,_ it just might be the thing that'll get me out of this._

He lifted his eyes, training them on Doctor Cox, and schooled his features into an expressionless mask. He'd need the control, if he was really about do what he was going to do next.

"Listen," he started, hushed voice slowly growing in volume and speed. "If you're not going to tell me what's gotten you so mad, why should I stay around? I have things to do, Doctor Cox; my life doesn't revolve around your needs—" _Well actually,_ a voice in the back of JD's head piqued up, that sounded a lot like his Chocolate Bear,_ it does, since you're evading Doctor Cox_ for _Doctor Cox_. _But whatever, man._

JD resisted the urge to shake his head at the utter strangeness of having Turk speak in his head. To Doctor Cox, he continued to speak seamlessly, revealing nothing about the inner turmoil of his thoughts.

"—Now I have places to be and people to talk to. So, if you'll excuse me?"

He spun on his heel, ready to vacate the area before the temporary burst of confidence that had imbued him wore off. After all, he didn't feel quite up to becoming a shivering wreck under the sub-zero temperature of Doctor Cox's gaze, which was what was most likely to occur if he stuck around. He only got a few paces down the hall before Doctor Cox seemed to break out of whatever stupor had held his attention and called after him.

Actually, more like _bellowed._

"NEWBIE!"

JD repressed a shudder. _Oh god, oh god, oh god. He sounds angry. What do I do?_

The question was, of course, rhetoric. However, another one of his voices—the one that sounded suspiciously like Doctor Cox himself—jumped at the chance to respond.

_You square your shoulders and you walk away,_ the voice said. _You have more important things to do._

JD nodded inwardly to himself. The voice was right. He _did_ have more important things to do. Finding Doctor Cox's future counterpart was only one of them, but it needed to be done—_now._ As he swallowed his fear and swung open the door to the stairwell, a far-off part of his brain realized that it wasn't exactly healthy to have more than one inner voice. Or normal.

JD dismissed the thought. After all, what was another voice against an inner monologue?

When Doctor Cox showed no indication of following him—JD suspected the man might be in shock, after all, he was never stupid enough to defy him before—the dark-haired doctor began to climb the stairs towards the next floor. During his ascension, and in the moments after it, JD realized two things simultaneously.

One: that he was extremely unfit, and,

Two: there was a reason—a very good one, in fact—why people didn't mess with Doctor Cox. Ever.

The reason? It always came back to bite you.

When JD swung open the door to the eight-floor stairwell, only to be promptly thrown back into it with a sharp _bang_, fact number two and all of its reasoning came slamming back to him. He released a low groan as pain bloomed where his lower back had hit the wall, and looked up just in time to see Doctor Cox's victorious smirk as the older man approached. JD staggered to his feet, just as Doctor Cox curled his hand around the front of his shirt to steady him against the wall. It was an unnecessary gesture, since JD's body had gone ramrod straight the moment he realized exactly what it was he was in for.

"You know damn well what this is about, Candee," Doctor Cox growled, fury etched into his features. The problem, of course, was that JD truly had no idea what he was talking about. At all.

"If it were anyone else, Newbie, they'd already be down and out. Fortunately for you, I know quite well that you don't have the anatomy required to please Jordan, unless she decides to become bi-curious, so I'm letting you go with a warning. I don't know what she sees in you, but it stops. Now. Got it?" Doctor Cox paused, obviously waiting for a reply. Still unsure of what was going on, JD nodded.

"'Atta girl," Doctor Cox said with a smirk, releasing the hold he had on JD and slapping him hard on the shoulder. Instead of leaving straight away, JD took a moment to observe Doctor Cox's reaction—his mentor's face hadn't changed upon seeing him nod, but JD noticed the tense line of his shoulders had loosened a fraction. Naturally, his mind began racing. _So he was really worried about me and... Jordan? Why?_

Then it occurred to him, how easy it would have been for somebody to misinterpret Jordan's actions the day she came to take him from Sacred Heart. He was about to open his mouth to speak, but shut it promptly after. After all, what could he very well tell Doctor Cox if he asked where Jordan took him, and, if not for an illicit love affair, then why? There was no way he could ever tell him the truth, could he?

It didn't take one of his mental voices to tell him that the answer was a definite _no_. He figured that one out on his own.

Doctor Cox seemed to like what he saw—or, at least, was satisfied with JD's answer. The more JD thought about it, the more he believed that it wasn't even about Doctor Cox truly believing there was something going on between him and Jordan, but about him needing to be sound in his knowledge that nothing _would _happen between them. Which, of course, was the truth. JD would never go after Jordan in that way, especially not after what he had learnt. Seeing so many different sides to her and knowing what she had been through didn't make him want her. He wanted to _know_ her, yes, but it was plain to see—though neither of them would ever admit it—that Doctor Cox and Jordan needed each other, in both the present _and _the future. That need didn't stop at them alone, either, for Jack Cox needed both his mother and his father, as they were, in order to grow up into the smart, young man JD knew him as.

It wasn't their responsibility to think about just their lives anymore; they needed to think about the new generations' as well.

Doctor Cox had slipped away during JD's mental epiphany, which he was secretly thankful for. Without any further delay, JD exited the stairwell and headed towards the elevators, as was his intention after the burn in his legs had become distinctly painful and no less uncomfortable upon climbing the stairs. It was a swift, uneventful ride up the elevator to the top floor of the hospital, with people coming and going as they did.

In no time at all, JD found himself pushing open the door to the roof exit.

A light, cool breeze brushed over his face, tugging softly at his hair. The copious amounts of gel he used kept it in place, but JD couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to let it press against his face with the push and pull of the wind, no cosmetics required. He'd have to do that one day, he considered. There just wasn't enough time to enjoy such simple things, not if Juvenile really was on the horizon.

Now, however, it was time for something that was all but simple. It was time for the confrontation that JD had been waiting the entire day to have.

_Here goes nothing,_ he thought, repeating his earlier sentiment.

JD stepped out towards the concrete barrier that stopped the roof from ending on a sharp precipice and called out: "Doctor Cox?"

There was no reply.

"Doctor _Cox_?"

Nothing.

"Stranger?"

Still nothing.

"Perry?"

He decided to go all out.

"_Per-Per?"_

"Admittedly, Glenda, I've grown fond of you, especially in the years to come—but there is no way I'm going to let you get away with that."

JD felt a tension he hadn't even known existed relieve itself in that moment. He spun around, determined to locate the source of the voice, a smile dawning on his face like a sunrise. "Doctor Cox? Where are you?"

"Nowhere, everywhere," came the distant reply. "What do you need, Newbie? I've got brooding to do."

_This might be harder than I thought,_ JD considered in length.

"So do I," he called, "I mean, I think you just threatened my life."

There was a large _thump_ on the ground beside him. Before JD could turn to react, a pair of hands reached out to grip his shoulders.

"I did_ what?" _Doctor Cox breathed, his response scathing enough to make JD stay rooted to the spot.

JD shook off Doctor Cox's powerful grip with a small smile. "I don't think you were serious about it. You were just worried about what Jordan and I—"

He cut himself off, for it was then that he actually turned around to meet Doctor Cox's eyes. JD, of course, didn't expect to see the man without his anti-flash glasses on. That was exactly what he saw.

Shock pooled in his stomach, hysteria rising to his throat. He had no doubt that the look on his face was one of barely disguised terror.

"Wh-What happened to you?"

Doctor Cox blinked, nonplussed, before his lips curved downwards into a small frown. "What are you talking about?" When JD said nothing, his eyebrows furrowed. "JD?"

The word snapped JD out of his stupor, but also brought the reality of the situation crashing down around his feet. He arched violently inwards and barely had enough time to turn away before he dispelled the contents of his stomach across the weathered, grey concrete. A warm, gentle weight settled on his back and began to rub soothing circles through his shirt. The motion didn't help the turmoil in his stomach much, but it certainly cleared his head.

Enough for him to ask the most important question.

He stood shakily, refusing Doctor Cox's offer to help him, and wiped his hand across his mouth, removing any traces of vomit from his face. Then, he turned to look Doctor Cox directly in the eye—for the first time since the two of them had met.

"Who did this to you?" He asked sternly, and was eternally relieved when his voice did not waver or succumb to the wave of sadness that was slowly pulling him down. There was a quick look of confusion on Doctor Cox's face before his hands rose to his temples. _Feeling for his glasses, no doubt,_ JD thought solemnly. He seemed as surprised as JD had been to find that they weren't there.

Almost immediately, the look of surprise hardened. The response, however, did anything but as Doctor Cox spoke softly, almost in a whisper: "You were never supposed to see this."

"I know," JD said, nodding, "But I have, and I want answers. Who did this to you?"

Doctor Cox averted his gaze to the bustling car park below, but otherwise wasted no time in providing the answer JD already knew. "The Collective."

"Why?"

This time, Doctor Cox looked up—directly at JD. The younger doctor couldn't help but release a shudder at what he saw there—it was not so much the thick, ugly red scars that ran vertically down either of Doctor Cox's eyes, spanning from his eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone, but more the sadness and the vulnerability he saw when the auburn-haired man looked at him. It was the look of a man tortured by his past—his present—his_ future_.

It was the look of a man who had survived.

This time, the answer JD was waiting for was not as he had expected.

"They did this to me, because of you."

___Change, everything you are, and everything you were,  
Your number has been called,  
Fights, battles have begun, revenge will surely come,  
Your hard times are ahead._

**END PART II OF MY TRIGGER.**

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **I know you're all gearing up to stab me right about now—be it for what I've put poor Perry through, or the fact that this chapter leaves a massive cliffhanger that you'll have to wait not one, but _two_ installments for—but let me explain. I originally planned for JD and Perry's long confrontation (which had only _begun_ at the end of this chapter) to span across both this chapter and the next, after the short interlude. However, that was before vintage!Perry told me he was losing sleep over JD and Jordan, and since I didn't suffer anymore than he already had—and, admittedly _will_ suffer during the rest of this story, if his future self is any indication—I added him in here. I've also been trying to incorporate more of JD's humor into the story, which would be so much easier if it wasn't for all the angst that is being thrown around. Still. Writing JD's dream was fun, and I've always had an affinity with future Perry, even if he only had a small—and admittedly depressing—part to play in this chapter. There _is_ more to come, however, considering that the next interlude is in his perspective, and will probably answer most of the questions raised at the end of this chapter.

Except, of course, for the numerous "WHY ARE YOU SO CRUEL!?!?!?!11?!" messages I'll undoubtedly receive. Reviews are appreciated, loved and well-cared for, however, even if majority of them rant about by inhumanity. 'Till next time.

--_ Exangeline._


	13. — II: PERRY, I —

**DISCLAIMER:** Scrubs is owned by Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing except an overactive imagination, a strange fondness for old 60's TV and a golden Labrador Retriever who thinks he's James Bond. Oh, and Adrian D'Arques, that bad British bloke. It's not an entirely boring existence, but it would be so much cooler if I _was_ Bill Lawrence. 'Cept for the fact that he's a man.

**WARNING: **Implied torture (nothing graphic), language, horror themes and cheesy British antagonists that bag out religion. This is the only chapter as a whole, as far as I know, that will have this type of content.

This interlude explores more of the future, with events that have since now only been brushed upon. Questions will be answered, but many more will undoubtedly take their place. Enjoy.

* * *

**INTERLUDE II**

_Of all the things I have learnt over the years, of everything I have adapted to, lived by and, admittedly, ranted at, there is one lesson so far ingrained in my knowledge that it has become second nature to me. It was conceived from a statement—an off-hand remark that meant nothing to my captors, but everything to me. Many believe, especially after hearing this story, that it was the horrific acts that followed that statement that taught me this lesson. But they're wrong. It wasn't the cold, dark room. It wasn't the overwhelming scent of fear and death. It wasn't even the torture. All of those things happened to me, and that's not what this is about. It wasn't what they had done to me that taught me this lesson. It was what they hadn't._

It was complete and total agony, the type you only feel when something inconsolably wrong is happening to you.

I could feel the machine ripping the thoughts from my head; the imprints, the memories, the good and the bad. It took all and gave nothing back, creating vast, empty holes amidst the tangled web of events and experiences that made a person whole. I wasn't one for imagery or poetic description—that was Newbie's specialty—but I couldn't get that analogy out of my mind. I clung to it, relieved to have something familiar to hold onto against the harsh probes and ice-cold determination of the machine eating away at my mind. It wouldn't take this thought away from me, I knew. It never did take them all.

No. The machine wasn't interested in imagination. It fed on cold, hard facts. It sought knowledge, the type of information that would be useful—almost essential—to the group controlling it. I was the perfect target, knee-deep in the rebellion's activities, actively opposing them at any turn. Some called it suicide; I called it the Perry Cox method of dealing with things. And damn it all if I wasn't paying for my unstable arrogance now.

I saw the rebel safe house, in all its patch-work glory, for a brief instant before the memory faded to nothing. The machine took a second or two to process that one, since the memory not only contained the image of the safe house, but all the ways of getting there too. It was the sort of information that could make or break the rebellion—the sort of information the machine was designed to recover—and I had let it slip away from me without a second thought . . .

All guilt was torn from me a moment later as every last reference to the safe house was purged from my mind. It left that re-he-_heally_ irritating feeling behind, the type of instant paranoia someone gets when they feel like they're forgetting something important, but can't for the life of them remember what it is. The machine seemed satisfied with that feeling and moved forward. I flinched, an anti-climatic reaction to the intense pain that flooded through me, centring in the middle of my forehead. It felt not unlike getting shot. Or, in Newbie's case, like getting his monthlies. I laughed bitterly at the thought, despite myself and the pain I was in, not realising the precarious position I had put myself in until it was too late.

The machine immediately honed in on the thought. At first I thought it was a godsend—or it would have been, had I believed in the big guy—because the intense pain that had seemed unstoppable only moments ago abruptly ceased and the scanning process stopped dead in its tracks. The thought only lasted for a second though, since I of all people knew better than to believe that the machine would simply stop because I had thought of Trish.

I froze, body and mind, as realisation dawned.

And that was all the warning I had before the machine put two and two together and instantly began following the path of experiences, memories and emotions that were the foundation of my knowledge of John Dorian. It didn't care for a thorough investigation, not with this line of thought. Instead, it rifled through memories long since buried, leaving them unkempt and disordered in its wake. The machine only wanted one thing from me in regards to Newbie.

I could feel its query echo through my mind, ringing in my ears.

_Where is John Dorian?_

I gritted my teeth and, for the first time since this had begun, actively resisted the foreign entity probing my mind. The agony increased, two-fold, but I still would not relent. There was no way_, no way_ I would give them this.

_Where is John Dorian?_

_Where is John Dorian?_

_Where is John Dorian?_

"I'll never tell." The words were soft, barely audible. It took me a moment to realise that it was me who had said them. When I did, however, my resolve strengthened and I backed the words with the full strength of my body. "I'LL NEVER TELL!"

And all at once, the questioning stopped. The machine shut down, the intense glare of its fluorescent lighting fading into darkness.

I opened my eyes to see a face.

"How did I do?" I asked, wearily. My voice was hoarse, and I was rapidly feeling the consequences of the interrogation. Every ounce of exhaustion crept up on me, right then; though I'd _never_ admit to it to anyone, especially not to that face.

"You did good," Newbie said, smiling sadly as the EMTs rushed towards my place in the middle of the dome-like room. "Really good."

* * *

_It's been a long time since I've been a doctor._

_If you think I'm being sentimental about it, though, you've got another thing coming. Yeah, I miss it—sometimes worse than others—but if there's one thing __I'll _ne_-hever_ _be, it's one of those pathetic sob-stories. I don't expect sympathy or pity from anybody, and I sure as hell don't want it, but this is a story that needs to be told. It just turns out that it needs to be told out of necessity, not out of choice._

_So excuse me, Glenda, if I'm a little sour about this but I'm not the type of person to just open up to anyone. Truth be told, I'm an arrogant bastard at times. I don't even have a problem with admitting that—ask anyone I've ever worked with. Hell, ask my ex-wife and my kids, they'll set you straight. A year ago, if you asked me whether I enjoyed being a doctor, I'd tell you that I wasn't just a doctor, I was THE doctor. I was Jesus H. Cox, MD. I was a god amongst men._

_How wrong that turned out to be._

_But that's not the point. The point is—I'm a changed man. I have been, ever since the world I'd known all my life went up in flames before my eyes, and then after them. The doctor wielding his ego became the assassin wielding his gun. Again, it was a change bought out of necessity, not out of choice. I never wanted this for myself, or for my family, my friends or my colleagues. I never wanted it for the world._

_It turns out the selfish doctor was a lot more selfless than he'd thought. Not like that changes anything._

_Except it changes everything._

_It was a simple infiltration mission. Get in, get what was needed, and get out. Naturally, this meant a million things could go wrong and, considering the enemy's advanced manpower and weaponry, it did. If there was one thing I've learnt since the beginning of all of this, it's that life is not like it is in the movies. The underdog's don't win, especially not if all they have to go on is the fact that they're good people. The group that wins is the group that is one step ahead of every problem._

_In this case, that group was the Collective._

* * *

_There's always one man above all the others that just irritates you, regardless of what he says or does. For me, that man was Bob Kelso. Or it was, until all hell broke loose. In the face of disaster, Sacred Heart provided a united front against anything or anyone who wished to take us down. Kelso did a surprisingly fine job of keeping strong in the face of mass panic. His years of emotional repression seemed to have paid off, because when the Collective commandos came storming in, guns blazing, he just looked them directly in the eyes, completely calm. They killed him shortly after, but his stubbornness gave the rest of us time to escape. I'd never peg old Beezlebob for being brave, but he saved our lives that day._

_The squad that killed him belonged to Adrian D'Arques, a high-rise businessman who moved to Sherman Oaks from Britain. He'd ordered the raid on Sacred Heart from the comfort of his luxury hotel, four miles away._

_Needless to say, he replaced Kelso at the top of _'Perry Cox's most irritating list'.

It was Adrian D'Arques who now paced before me, hands clasped together to rest at the small of his back. His hawk-like stare flitted all over the place, never resting in one spot for too long, but still managing to take in everything around him. He brushed a strand of copper-coloured hair out of his face before he turned on his heel to stand right in front of me. He stared down at where I knelt on the dusty, cold floor of the building's basement, his vibrant blue eyes glittering in the dull light.

"Where did this go wrong, Mr. Cox?" D'Arques asked me, his English lilt giving the words a natural edge of sympathy and sadness that I knew was one hundred percent false. I didn't answer—I couldn't. Thick, grey electrician's tape covered my mouth and bound my hands behind my back. I simply stared up at him through narrowed eyes, the tape hiding nothing of the contempt I felt towards him. I hated that bastard. I wanted him dead.

As I've said, it's been a long time since I've been a doctor.

Just as I was beginning to wonder whether he actually wanted a serious answer—or an answer at all, for that matter (which wasn't impossible if I could've gotten my hands free to slam into his face)—D'Arques began to speak again. His voice boomed across the vast emptiness of the long, dark basement, echoing against its dank, brick walls. He didn't bother to remove the tape from over my mouth. He didn't need a response to this.

Ever the gentleman, Adrian D'Arques was, right up until the moment he killed you.

"If a man sins with his hands, you cut off his hands. Likewise, if a man sins with his eyes, you cut out his eyes." D'Arques said, his voice taking on that air of majesty that people usually adapted when quoting things. Then, contrastingly, he shrugged. "Or something like that. It was written in the Bible, of all places, that it was better to enter your life maimed than with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out." He paused for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought, before lifting his eyes and smiling at me. "Ah, but you see, Mr. Cox, I am not so barbaric. I believe the idea has merit in theory, but in practice I find it is far too brutal to take off somebody's hands or cut out their eyes. At least, not without the proper provocation.

"You have sinned with your eyes, Mr. Cox, simply by being here. Rest assured, I will not cut out your eyes, but I may inscribe a message onto them. I believe the Roman numeral _two_ will suffice, though it's a shame that its message will be so grossly misunderstood." D'Arques sighed, as if this fact was a large burden to him. I hoped it caused him grief, whatever it was. "Nevertheless, it is a simple number, nothing overcomplicated as designs are these days. It is hard, after all, to cut across flesh with precision if it is a work of art you wish to carve. Two is the perfect number for you, Mr. Cox, for many reasons, but to allow no miscommunication, I will tell you right now the real reason as to why I have chosen this for you. You see, Perry—may I call you that?—I do not want to know where John Dorian is. This is not the message I send to you with these scars."

He shook his head and, for the first time since I had seen him, looked at me in complete seriousness and said: "No, I think we both know what this is about."

In the next moment, that deadpan expression lifted, to be replaced by the same, all-knowing smirk he had worn before. Then he said the words that chilled me to the bone.

"Say, Perry, how is your daughter?"

For the first time since I'd been captured, I began to actively struggle against my bonds. A sinking dread ran through me. "What the hell have you done to her?" I tried to yell. "What the hell are you planning to do?" With the tape around my mouth, the words came out unintelligible. They didn't need to be heard, however, for the message to be sent across, but it would have packed an extra Perry Cox punch if D'Arques could have actually heard the threats roll off my tongue.

If I didn't know him—or, at least, his file—so well, I would have said that D'Arques' eyes widened with fear. To the trained eye, however, he just looked amused. He tutted softly under his breath at my reaction. "Calm down, Perry, I jest."

I didn't let my guard down for an instant. I never did, especially not where my family was concerned. I knew what D'Arques was trying to do—push my buttons—but he would understand sooner or later that Perry Cox was button-_less_. The threat of torture would cause me to relent, and not when the possibility was becoming more and more likely that the torture would actually occur.

I tried to say that to myself so many times that I almost believed it. D'Arques didn't buy it for a second, not after my outburst. He had me, and he knew it.

"Listen to me, Perry, because this next part is very exciting." He knelt before me. "You see, I don't need to know how Miss Jennifer Dylan Sullivan-Cox is, because I already know. I already know all about her."

I didn't have a chance to discover what those words meant, as it was then that D'Arques extended his hands towards me. His fingers cupped my face in a surprisingly gentle hold. I flinched away from the touch in what D'Arques would most likely assume was fear. In reality, my blood was burning with a mixture of disgust and an overpowering, red-hot rage. He did na_-hot_ just bring my daughter into this like she was—

_RIIIP._

My eyes widened in astonishment as D'Arques threw aside the electrician's tape that covered my mouth, hands falling back to his sides as he stood. He took a step back from me, eyes meeting mine in a silent challenge. The next move was mine to make. My confusion faded quickly after that, dismissed and replaced with the anger that had built up well beyond my breaking point. The barrier keeping it under lock and key shattered.

"You know nothing about her, you fucking bastard. And you never, ne-_hever_ will."

D'Arques simply looked amused.

"I know a lot of things about your daughter, Perry, things that not even you yourself know. For example, I know that she plays a very important role in our future plans. A, how do you say it, ve-_hery_ important role." He smiled condescendingly at me. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to choke back down the rage that threatened to overwhelm me. It wouldn't help Jenny anyway if I lost my cool. Moreover, it was what D'Arques wanted—and I'd never give that rat-bastard what he wanted.

D'Arques continued, oblivious to my internal struggle, yet all too aware of how his words were affecting me.

"Do not think for a minute that we invented the Juvenile virus simply to allow it to spread uncontrollably. As I previously stated, we are definitely not that barbaric. Hundreds have died, thousands more will follow, but at our own discretion. It is vital that we control what happens to this virus, spread it where it is supposed to be spread—where it will do the most damage. You should feel privileged, Perry, as your daughter will do just that. She has been chosen for this crucial task, one that she most definitely will not fail." He took a deep, lingering breath. I was so tightly coiled with frustration at my own weakness; I would have tackled him right then and there if it wasn't for what he said next.

"She is strong, even stronger than you, perhaps, though your role is equally as important. You will be the message I send with her. You are the perfect candidate."

D'Arques smiled, cocking his head to the side as he regarded me.

"You are, after all, the father of the second carrier."

* * *

D'Arques must have grown tired of trying to push my buttons, if the throbbing pain in the back of my head was any indication. I hadn't even noticed that somebody was behind me until the needle sunk into my neck and the ground seemed to grow closer and closer at an alarming rate before my eyes. I came to, realising that I had been moved into a small, four-by-four cell. It was dark, damp and smelt worse than the dead.

The second thing I realised, which followed only nanoseconds later, was that I wasn't alone.

A figure sat barely a foot away from me, their small frame suggesting that it was a woman. Or Newbie, but that wasn't something even I'd joke about. If the Collective caught him, then we were all as good as dead. As hard as it was—and still is—for me to admit it, John Dorian was the only hope any of us had left. I knew it. We all knew it. Newbie wouldn't allow himself to be so easily captured, not with what was at stake, even if there was a life—in this case, _mine_—on the line. It'd taken me a long time to convince him of that last one—a conversation I definitely did not want to revisit. For even though our positions had reversed and, for the first time in a long time, I was the one learning from him, he had never ceased his incessant hero-worship of me. I lived off of it, of course, but that's something Newbie would never find out about, not if I could help it.

"How are you feeling?" A voice, hoarse from disuse, disturbed and abruptly derailed my train of thought.

I averted my gaze from the floor to look at the only other occupant of the cell; the woman who had just spoke out to me. Despite the roughness in her voice, her gender was unmistakable. Half of her face was cast in shadow, and all I could see from the rest of it was a shock of blonde hair, streaked with dirt. She had obviously been kept in captivity for a long time, probably with no one to talk to. If I wasn't so emotionally crippled, I might've tried to reach out to her, but her situation was far too common these days to evoke a serious emotional response from me. Nearly everyone was missing someone and, while I was one of the lucky ones, I knew for a fact Newbie wasn't.

That thought sparked a chain reaction of epiphanies that had me gaping openly at the woman by the end of it.

Because that's when I realised I knew her.

She bristled under the weight of my stare as I watched her incredulously. Her neurotic flinch was unmistakable. "_Barbie?"_

There was a long pause.

"I'm surprised you even recognise me," she said softly. Her voice cracked horribly as she spoke, but she wore a wan smile as she looked at me. "I didn't know who you were until you woke up. Even then, it was hard to identify you without those curls."

My rumble of laughter surprised even myself. Barbie and I had never been on good terms, even after the outbreak, but I couldn't say that I had felt nothing when I had learnt she'd gone missing. It had torn Newbie apart, because there was no doubt in any of our minds that she was taken because of her close relationship to him. That had been six months ago and, as my initial surprise faded, confusion took its place.

Just as I was about to open my mouth to speak, I took stock of Barbie's expression as she peered out at me through the curtain of her hair. She looked bewildered, almost disturbed, and it took me a long moment to realise why. My first thought was that I had said something overly offensive, which wouldn't have surprised me if I did, but I hadn't even had a chance to speak with her properly. My second thought was, naturally, that Barbie was off her rocker, but I'd had many conversations in the past with people who weren't all there before and this was nothing like that. Just as I dismissed that thought, it occurred to me, and I almost laughed at the simplicity of it. I hadn't snapped at her over her remark, which was an opportunity I would have almost never passed up had we been in the comfort of Sacred Heart. No, if we were in the hospital and she had made such an observation, I probably would have torn her a new one for no reason other than the fact that I was bored.

To her unspoken question, I said: "I may be an egotistical maniac, Barbaroo, but that doesn't mean I don't feel." And it was true. I might be a bastard, but I wasn't about to let her have it just because her first words to me in six months were a joke. Not when we were both in such a precarious and, admittedly, disastrous situation.

Barbie nodded in response, turning her head to the side to glimpse at the slither of light that could be seen through the small window on the door. I don't know what she saw there, or what she was thinking of as she gazed at the light, but I sure as hell know what I was thinking, especially when I saw the face she hid behind her hair. Even before she had gone missing, it had been common knowledge that she was malnourished. For a woman at 5'9", a hundred and ten pounds was small enough to fall under unhealthy eating behaviour. That was when, despite the depreciative state of the world, there was enough food to go around for everybody to have their share. Now . . .

Now she looked sickly. Her usual cream complexion had faded into a ghastly pale from lack of contact with the outside world, and when she tightened her hold on her knees, I could see her skin clinging to her bones—thin and translucent, the blue and red of her veins contrasting violently against it. I had seen enough during my years as a doctor not to openly react upon seeing her looking like this. No, it wasn't her stick-like appearance that chilled me to my bones. Instead, it was the dark purple, blue and red marks that blossomed across her fragile, white skin—all too familiar purple, blue and red marks where she had been beaten, thrown and pummelled into the ground. I hadn't just seen those bruises, I had lived them, and I knew exactly what it was like to be in her place—to be kept in the dark so long and to find solace only in the small, hairline cracks of light that filtered through the doorway.

It was too familiar.

Apparently I hadn't disguised my emotions as well as I thought, because when Barbie finally turned her head to look back at me, she openly flinched at the expression that had crossed my face at the sight of those bruises.

I felt conflicted. I felt sympathetic. I felt the familiar haze of memories long since buried rise to the surface.

Then I felt pissed off beyond belief.

"What the _hell_ did they do to you?" I barked, unable to keep the rage and sharp accusation out of my voice. She didn't reply, simply averting her gaze down at herself, now nothing more than skin and bone. She shivered then, and not from the cold.

"Barbie?" Nothing.

"_Elliot!"_

She raised her eyes to meet mine, startled by the use of her first name.

And then, as I stared at the petrified expression that flooded her features, I knew what I had to do.

"I'm getting you out of here—tonight."

_Empathy is a difficult thing to understand, especially for people like me who haven't experienced it that much during their lifetime. It turns out that I had a lot to learn, especially in regards to how easily it can strike someone at the most inopportune times. I never expected to feel sympathy for anyone, and even if I did, Elliot Reid would've been at the bottom of the list of expected candidates. As luck would have it, she was the one I found there, and I was going to do everything in my power to get her out—to give her the one choice that I didn't have. Our captors were very different people, but our situations were the same. I understood what she was going through like I had never understood anything before._

_It seems being selfless paid off a lot more than I'd thought._

_In both ways._

**TO BE CONTINUED IN INTERLUDE II, PART II.**

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Oh yes. You read that right. Perry seemed to get a little out of hand with his storytelling, especially when he informed me that he was shacked up in his cell with Elliot. The good news is, although this is broken up into two, I will definitely have Part II up in no time, since I've pretty much written it all. The only reason it was cut in half was because the interludes were meant to be short, not long and I have a feeling that all together, it would probably end up as long as _The Flight _(recently renamed as _The Revelation_)_,_ one of the longest chapters I've written to date. On another—and completely random note—Adrian D'Arques is a creep. And he's about to get a hell of a lot creepier.

**AND NOW, A SPECIAL, ONE-TIME OFFER: **Since I've already written the other half of this interlude, I've decided to reward the people who review this chapter with a preview of the second half, for taking time from their super-busy lives to give me feedback. I'm still not certain whether I will post the next half up now, or after the next arc is complete. It's all up to you guys, but I can't get your opinion or give you the preview if I don't know who you are. ;) The decision is yours.

Much love,

-- _Exangeline._


	14. — II: PERRY, II —

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, especially not the characters of this story, who've all decided that they're going to overthrow the system and write ridiculously long interludes with massive syllable-elongation and bitch-sessions about Barbie Reid. (Yep. I'm looking to you, Perry).

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Honestly. It's just my luck that the one thing I'd hoped to avoid ends up happening anyway. I'm sorry about the long read, guys, but I just didn't want to dissapoint you again by breaking it up into a third part. Still. I am super-excited about this update, because it just rocks my socks. I hope you enjoy it too, as well as the extras at the bottom there. That's all I have to say, except maybe that I'm sorry about keeping you waiting so long. I had to get this perfect before I posted it. It's an author thing. Or maybe it's a me thing. Enjoy!

* * *

**INTERLUDE II, PART II**

_I'm one of those people whose reputation precedes them. I say that with a lot of honesty and very little arrogance, though most people don't seem to notice the difference. That's what reputations do, in a nutshell—they change the way people think about you before they've even met you. It doesn't matter whether or not what is said is true, or if people believe it or not, either way—you've made a name for yourself. No matter how much someone disregards gossip about someone else, they always remember it, and eventually become bias towards the person being talked about. It's not something you can help, it just happens. The people who don't choose their reputations are almost always dragged down by it, despite whether what is being said is good or bad. If it's bad, well, that one's obvious. Nobody wants news spread about them, especially about something they said or did that they might regret. If it's good, that one's a little trickier. Sometimes people rise to the occasion, no matter if the rumour is true or false, but more often than not they become burdened by the weight of other people's expectations._

_I was never one of those people._

_I chose my reputation, I demanded the attention and I enforced the rules. I didn't do it because I was an egotistical maniac—well, partly—but because it was the only way I knew how to protect myself. If you didn't make a name for yourself, people made one for you. I just couldn't have that. Things had to happen my way, or no way at all._

_It began in high school, where I was known as the resident menace, one who truly believed he was gracing the halls with his presence. Needless to say, this didn't change much when I became a doctor—after the initial bought of terror that every intern experienced, I settled in, and so did my ego. The difference between the two was that, as a doctor, I was actually making a difference. In high school, I was just annoying. My reputation for being an obnoxious bastard was coupled with the fact that I was undeniably brilliant. I knew it, my teachers knew it, the other students knew it and, eventually, Sacred Heart knew it, too._

_It didn't stop there. When the world went to hell with the rise of the Collective, I knew it was impossible to play the part of best doctor anymore. All of the hospitals were being raided. Those who stood up to the barrage were cut down without a second thought, and those who didn't fight were taken to work in conjunction with the enemy. Bobcat helped us to escape when they finally came to Sacred Heart, but he couldn't help us escape what we were. There were only two choices—kill, or be killed. Many of my colleagues, Barbie included, didn't take to the change well. They were doctors, not soldiers. But though I was the most rebellious of the group, I also knew what needed to be done. Being a pacifistic doctor just wouldn't cut it anymore. I didn't believe in bloodshed and I sure as hell didn't believe in war, but when the alternative was death for me and everyone I ever knew, the choice was made clear._

_I set out to make a new reputation for myself. A new name, and a new face._

_Not all of my plans were pulled off that flawlessly._

* * *

"You have no idea how to get out of here, do you?"

I was slowly starting to remember why I'd never liked Barbie Reid in the first place, but I kept my mouth shut. It was less than an hour ago that I had proclaimed my intentions of breaking her out of here, and she definitely did na-_hot_ seem receptive to the idea. According to her, my expertise only extended to medical procedures and throwing the occasional well-aimed punch, not prison breaks. Of course, now that she'd said that, I was going to have to do everything I could to prove her wrong. Lucky for the both of us, this worked in conjunction to the original idea.

Barbie seemed to want an answer to her question. I managed to restrain myself from growling at her, but it was a close one. "I'll think of something," I said wryly, and she let the subject drop.

For about five minutes, at least.

I eventually droned out her incessant babbling by surveying the guard rotation outside the cell. I had no idea what I would do with the information once I had it, but that was where the planning part of the escape came into it—something that Barbie didn't seem to understand if her constant objections were any indication. I shook my head, distracting myself from my irritation while fixing my eyes on the figures stationed outside the door. _There's only one guard directly outside here,_ I thought, commentating to myself what I would probably tell my partner in the event that I was placed with someone who actually did have a brain that they used once in awhile,_ but his gal-pals are probably waiting down the hall..._

_A-haand this information is useless, _I thought, scowling. _Without knowing where the other guards are stationed, we're screwed either way._

Resignedly, I turned around and put my head in my hands, trying to think of the logical way to go about this. I came up empty. Barbie seemed to realise what was happening and stopped speaking, fixing her gaze on my face when I finally lifted my head to look around the room. The brief moment of quietude didn't last long. "I'm glad you're here, Doctor Cox," she said, playing with the sleeve of her faded blue shirt. I stared at her incredulously. After all, _I _sure wasn't glad that I was there. She was quick to realise the mistake, and added sheepishly: "Company-wise, I mean."

A moment of silence passed between us before she sighed. "But I don't think even you can find a way out of this place without some help."

I simply stared at her in response, unable to conjure even the most simplest of wit. She faltered.

"Help me to help you, remember?" asked Barbie, her voice small.

I did remember. I also remembered that I had a voice, too. "And how will you manage that, Barbaroo? If you didn't notice, you're in exactly the same situation I am."

She turned her head to the side and, for the first time since I'd told her what I planned to do, was completely subdued. Before I could begin to ponder the change and the reasons for it, however, she seemed to gather up the courage to speak again. Her voice, though barely audible, still managed to ring against the walls of the small cell as she spoke. "They post a solitary guard outside every occupied cell. Lucky for us, there are probably only a few other people in this place right now. The guards outside the cell rotate twice every three hours and, for the two standing at each hallway exit, once every three hours. This is a big place, though, so occasionally when something big is going down, like your infiltration mission, we'll be only left with the cell guards, who are mostly distracted by one another anyway."

"And you know that _how_?" I asked. Mockery bled into the question from every angle, my automatic defence mechanism whenever something put me completely off guard.

Barbie shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant, but I could tell I'd hit a sore spot. For some reason, knowing that didn't give me the same satisfaction as it used to. _Newbie's gone and made you soft, that rat-bastard,_ a voice in the back of my head said to me, sounding disapproving. I shook it off, knowing that it had more merit than anything else I'd thought about today. I regained myself to see Barbie looking at me, an unidentifiable look on her face.

"It's not like I've had much else to do for the last six months besides staring out that crack and getting beaten."

I sighed, realising at once where this was all going.

"Listen, Barbie. I emphasise with you, I really do, and you know how hard that is for me. But there's not much point sitting there feeling sorry for yourself—it's not going to get us out of here." I paused, looking down at her wide-eyed expression. "You _do_ want to get out of here, don't you, Barberella?"

Her reply was barely audible, yet I heard it like she was screaming at me. "More than anything," she whispered. I nodded.

"Then it's time to start planning."

I crouched beside the door, peering out into the small window of perspective it provided of the hallway beyond it. I saw the guard to our cell standing on the right, and only two more guards down the hall that I could see. It still wasn't enough to get a significant idea of what we were up against but, with Barbie's information, it helped. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to think so. Despite what progress I thought we'd made, she seemed to slip right back into her first mindset. Which was, of course, to grossly undermining my abilities. Especially when I got annoyed, like I was then.

"I need to know how, Doctor Cox," she said, exasperatedly, like it was the most tiring thing in the world. "Even if we plan, how are we going to get out of here?"

This time, I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. "I don't know how we're getting out of here, Barbaroo, that's why we _plan_ these things. You know, through that small little thing people sometimes do called thinking?"

I turned to garner her reaction, only to see that she was looking down at her hands with a strange look on her face. I followed her gaze to see the red-purple bruises on her knuckles. My annoyance faded immediately, replaced by something that—to my absolute horror—seemed to represent concern.

"Did they—?"

She cut me off immediately. "No. They didn't give me these." She smiled sadly as she stroked the bruises with her fingertips. "I got these from fighting back."

"Barbie: a fighter? Who'd have thought?" I hadn't realised I'd said that aloud until she looked at me. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a smile on her face.

A moment later, she said: "You don't have to be such a bastard about it."

I smirked. "Would I really be me if I wasn't?"

She offered a small smile in return, only for it to fade into seriousness a moment later. I didn't say anything—there was no point of asking her if she was okay when she clearly wasn't. Not that I would have, even if that fact didn't apply. Instead, I waited 'til she was comfortable to speak again. Considering the fact that this was Doctor Barbie I was cell-buddies with, it didn't take long.

"I know why you want to get out of here so badly, Doctor Cox," she said softly, eyes still fixated on the place where her hands rested in her lap.

I raised an eyebrow in her direction, almost convinced that I hadn't heard her right. "You mean, other than the fact that this place is dark, damn and smells like a sewerage pipe?"

She nodded, looking extremely put out. "That man—the one with the accent—he told me things. Things about me... and about you as well."

What she said didn't surprise me in the least. This was Adrian D'Arques we were talking about, after all. To her, I said: "You do know that you're _generally_ not supposed to take the word of the guy who's responsible for you being here, right?" I was sure the words would come off sarcastic, as my remarks often did, but I was honestly worried for Barbie in that moment. How much had Adrian D'Arques told her that she actually took seriously—or, worse, believed?

She just shook her head at me.

"I know when he's taunting me. He's never serious when he does, and I know you know that. But this... this was different. He was completely serious about this—I could see it in his eyes."

"What did he say?"

Barbie took a deep breath, only to shiver from whatever memory she was drawing upon. "He said he had plans for me," she began, softly, but couldn't manage to say anything more. I waited for her, calling upon some of my previously untapped patience that I usually reserved for play-dates with my children and general interaction with Newbie. Finally, after a pregnant silence, she lifted her eyes to meet mine. "He also said he has plans for your daughter."

That caught my attention. I immediately recalled the conversation I'd had with D'Arques before he so abruptly disposed of me into this cell. It didn't help my calm any, thinking about it.

"What plans?" I asked.

She didn't respond. Almost desperately—I say almost, because if there's one thing I'm _not,_ it's desperate—I crawled my way over to her, placing my hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look at me. "What plans, Barbie?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me." She looked up at me, eyes searching, scanning my face for some sort of sign. Whatever she found, it sure as hell wasn't what she expected. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Ohmigod!" She gasped, the words blurring into one another as her neurotic tendency to talk inhumanly fast managed to kick in. "You know—don't you?"

I shook my head, still feeling the cold pit of dread freezing my insides. "D'Arques—that's the bastard's name—told me that Jennifer was infected. With the Juvenile virus."

I have to hand it to Barbie—she's a pretty emphatic human being, especially when it came to other's suffrage. Upon hearing what D'Arques had told me, her hands moved to grip my own, which were still resting on her shoulders. Her wide, blue eyes filled with tears. When she spoke, it was a single word, but one that had so much pent-up sadness behind it she managed to stir an actual _emotion _to my chest. "No..."

I averted my eyes, unable to deal with the turmoil resting behind my own cold, hard facade. To see Barbie crumble threatened to unravel the gigantic ball of tangled, garbled fear I kept safely behind the mask of adrenaline and anger that was keeping me going. I couldn't have that. I couldn't come apart—not yet, and most certainly not here. Only until I had my family safe in my arms would I allow myself to let loose. Anything else would be strictly out of character for me, and would play directly into the Collective's hands. I couldn't give them that satisfaction. So I schooled my features, and gave Barbie the rest of the story.

"It gets worse. He said that she was a carrier—that when she dies, she'll spread the virus to hundreds, maybe thousands more people." Before Barbie could get a chance to react, I continued. "But that's not, I repeat, _not_ going to happen—not if we come up with a way out of here. And we will, Elliot." Saying her name again had the desired effect. Her hands, which had risen to her face, slowly dropped to her sides.

I fixed her with my best, most arrogant Cox smirk.

"Whaddaya say?"

Barbie looked up at me then. Her eyes, while still gleaming with unshed tears, were hardening before my eyes. With strength. She nodded curtly. "Let's do this."

_I'd like to say that I was the mastermind behind our little escape attempt, but I wasn't. We got out on dumb luck. That doesn't mean I didn't try—or, more specifically, that _we _didn't try. When it came down to it, though, there was only one thing shy of another infiltration that could get us out of that cell and to safety. That one thing—our only hope—was to have an inside man._

_Lucky for us, that's exactly what we got._

* * *

Our first inclination that all hope wasn't lost came in the form of a message, scrawled hastily on the inside of a food tray that was dumped unceremoniously through the narrow slit in the door. I averted my eyes from the tray of food to Barbie, who nodded at me to say that it was alright. It wasn't until after the meal—which consisted of half a glass of water and a bowl of cold oatmeal that resembled sludge more than it did any edible food—that we—or, rather, _I_—noticed the words printed on the metallic underside of the tray. I beckoned Barbie over to take a look at the words as I lifted the tray towards the small slither of light that the slit provided.

"Ever noticed this before?" I asked her. I felt rather than saw the shake of her head as we both glued our eyes to the messy scrawl before us.

The writing, though barely legible, should have made sense to us in the minutes that followed. But it didn't. The sequence was utterly random, the letters put together in such a way that they could spell out no accurate word or sentence no matter which way or order they were placed in. They were a mixture of consonants with an occasional vowel in a completely inappropriate place. The writer, whoever they were, also seemed to favour those letters barely used in most colloquial words, such as X, Q and Z. Even with my own sharp intellect and Barbie's admittedly functioning brain, we couldn't figure out what those letters meant. It was only until we shifted to the bottom of the tray that we recognised three words that actually made sense in some way, shape or form. Barely.

It was Barbie who broke the sudden silence that had flooded the cell, asking the exact same thing I was thinking.

"'_Year of outbreak'_?"

I glared at the three words, sceptical of their meaning. "The year of the Juvenile outbreak was 2010, but what the hell does that have to do anything?" The words came out as a growl. I turned my head to watch Barbie as she read and re-read the only the legible words at the bottom of the tray with a scrutinising glance. Her features softened a little as she lifted her head from the small spillage of light at the door and turned to face me.

A moment later, she spoke again, this time thoughtfully.

"What if this isn't as coincidental as it looks? The date obviously means something, and so does the fact that it's the only thing on this tray we can read."

While I already suspected everything she had just said, something in Barbie's words struck out at me. After a moment of processing the information, it occurred to me. I lifted my head, matching Barbie's still rather bewildered stare with a wicked smirk. "I know what this is," I said, unable to keep the pride from seeping into my voice. And who could blame me, either? This was the first good thing to happen to me in hours. "Code-breaking 101. This is a cipher; a date-shift cipher, to be exact."

Barbie's eyes widened in recognition. "Do you think we can figure it out without a pen and paper?"

"I _know_ we can," I replied, levelling my eyes to meet her gaze head on. "I'll convert the letters if you can remember what we've done so far."

Barbie nodded curtly. Without further hesitation, we began.

From what I remembered being taught, the date-shift cipher involved decoding a mixture of seemingly random letters into a message, using a date—in this case, the year of the Juvenile outbreak—to decipher it. The words were placed next to each other with no line breaks or spaces in between, which made the message more secure, and each letter shifted to the left depending on the numerical value given to the letter. The first letter, a G, was supposed to be shifted twice to the left, according to the idea that the letters would move in an anti-clockwise direction when shifted, which made it an I. This meant that the letters on one side of the cipher wheel would look like they were moving to the right, while others would look like they were moving to the left. Once I explained this to Barbie, we made quick work of the first line, which roughly read: . When using 2010 as the code-breaker, the message was properly decoded into an equally long string of letters. While the individual letters remained pushed together, it wasn't at all hard to read the message they spelled out. By some stretch of imagination, the first line of the inscription on the tray actually said: I AM THE HARBINGER. I AM HERE TO HELP YOU ON JOHN DORIAN'S ORDERS. Enthused by our initial success, it took less than a half an hour for us to decode the rest of it.

In its entirety, the letter read:

"_I am the Harbinger. I am here to help you on John Dorian's orders. Escape to commence at midnight with fake alarm to divert guard attention. Must get out as soon as possible. Further information at dinner."_

"Looks like we really are getting out of here tonight," I said with a low whistle. Barbie looked up at me, her eyes widening as realisation set in. I smirked in response, unable to keep the expression off my face. When Barbie beamed brightly in response, however, the smirk faded into a genuine smile. I wrote off my moment of weakness as an inevitable side-effect of working with Newbie.

Unfortunately, the anticipation that swelled in my gut during the hours that followed was all on me, especially when 'dinner' finally approached. Though I'd nee-_hever_ admit it, it quickly got to the point where Barbie was in a calmer state than I was, despite her tendency to be a gigantic ball of crazy when she was nervous. Neither of us said anything about it. It shocked me, really, as of all the times Barbie could have sought revenge for the hell I'd put her through during our time at Sacred Heart, this would have been the one that would have gotten to me the most. If I were in her position, I sure as hell would have said something, but Barbie's snide remark never came. When I turned to her, all I saw was a sad kind of understanding in Barbie's too-blue eyes. And, for some reason, that got to me more than any insult ever could.

I had no time to ponder the strange position I found myself in right then as in the moments that followed, a food tray—identical to the one we'd received earlier—slid through the slit in the door. Barbie and I scrambled towards it, moving faster than we had in hours. Barbie took the plate of food off the tray as I held it up into the light to glimpse at the hidden message underneath. I didn't know what I expected, but whatever it was, it wasn't what saw.

The message was clear—too clear, perhaps. But as I stared at it, I realised that the two words written on the tray would mean nothing to anybody else who picked it up. There was no need to use the date-shift cipher or any type of code or translation. It was too straight forward for that. In big, bold black letters, scrawled in the precise middle of the tray, the message consisted of two words.

STAND BACK.

It was like something out of a movie. Barbie and I locked eyes with one another, achingly slow. When she spoke, her voice was low, anxiety laced in every syllable of every word. "You don't think its midnight yet, do you?" She asked, still clutching the tray tightly in her hands. I grimaced at her, unable to stop the irritation I felt from bubbling to the surface and promptly overflowing, flooding me with the emotion.

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

I never finished my sentence, because in that moment, an ear-splitting sound erupted in the air around us. I recognised the sound of the alarm from when it sounded when our team breached the outward defences. This time, however, we both knew it was a hoax. What wasn't was the message written on the tray. Heeding our mysterious messenger's warning, Barbie and I staggered to our feet and pressed ourselves against the opposing wall of the cell, focusing on becoming as small as possible to avoid the coming explosion. I lifted my arms to shelter Barbie's head as we waited, my shoulders encompassing her smaller frame to shield her from what was to come.

Our messenger didn't disappoint.

The door exploded violently inwards, smacking against one of the side walls with a devastating _crack._ When the debris fell and we found ourselves still intact, I lowered my hands from Barbie's face. We turned in unison, both blinking against the sudden light that flooded the cell, and the shadowy figure that appeared in the threshold of the door, now blown off of its hinges. I turned to Barbie, who was still blinking rapidly against the light overhead, and grinned.

"Looks like we got our answer."

* * *

The three of us ran down the deserted hallways of the prison ward, stopping whenever we saw an unconscious guard lying in front of a cell. The man responsible for freeing us—who immediately revealed that he wasn't the Harbinger, but a close associate—threw open each door with an amazing display of ability. Freeing the rebel agents still captive within their cells took time, but it was well worth it. We found six people in total, two to a cell, who seemed to be the only prisoners left out of the hundreds that Barbie described going in and out of the place. I quickly realised why. The base we found ourselves in was one of the smaller ones, designed to hold prisoners only on a temporary basis. It acted more as a rendezvous point, a place to refuel—though the amount of soldiers that were in a base of this little importance was startling. The Collective had definitely been doing some recruiting work. Lucky for us, the rebels had, too.

We didn't encounter any trouble until we reached the base's inner circle. It seemed about then that the guards realised there was no obvious threat and began to return to their posts. Of course, when they saw a rag-tag bunch of dirty, sweaty people running away from them, it was akin to having a neon sign on top of our heads saying: _We've Just Escaped, Come Catch Us._

It only went downhill from there.

The guards chasing after us radioed in to the rest of the base, revealing the true cause of the alarm. All at once, we were seriously outnumbered. We weren't getting any quicker, either. Most of the prisoners, Barbie included, hadn't done any physical exercise in months. That, coupled with pure exhaustion and malnutrition from the rations they'd been given for food, slowed us down considerably. While Barbie managed to keep her cool despite the weight that was resting against her, many of the other prisoners didn't. One of them, a girl who couldn't have been more than Jack's age, slipped and fell. The rest of the prisoners—including her cell mate, a boy equally as young—continued on without her, either not noticing or not caring about whether she was following them or not. In some ways I could understand it, especially when thinking of the desperation I myself felt to get the hell out of here. But mostly, it just sickened me.

Which is why I turned and ran back.

Tear tracks marked the girl's dirt-smeared face as she clutched her ankle with a look of barely concealed anguish. She looked up at me pleadingly as I drew in closer to her, her eyes begging me to help her. I couldn't do anything for her injury, but I was strong enough to carry the both of us. I had only been in this hell-hole for a day or so, after all, and hell—I was Perry Cox. I could do this, I _knew_ I could. I scooped her up in a single movement and carried her, bridal-style, down the hall. There was no way we'd catch up to Barbie and the others now, not if they remained at a consistent pace, but I had studied the plans and I knew which route they were taking. We followed behind, the girl clinging to me like I was her life-line.

Every footfall jostled her ankle, and I felt my heart go out to her despite the lack of emotion present on my face. In order to keep her—and, in some ways, me—distracted from the ever-present fear that accompanied our situation, I asked: "What's your name?" From the corner of my eye, I saw her blink, clearly confused by the question. A moment later, she answered, her voice small and shaking.

"K-Kara."

We shot down the hall, the walls on either side a blur as we moved. Kara's grip around my neck tightened as I turned a sharp right, heading for a door at the end of the corridor. We were almost there, I realised. Almost to safety.

I threw open the door to see the other group, Barbie included, waiting by a gigantic bulkhead door. I frowned. I'd forgotten about that. When we infiltrated the base, we'd made certain to steer clear of those doors. They took at least a half an hour to open—unless, I realised, you were lucky enough to have someone on the inside working with you. Our rescuer was busy typing in the five-digit exit code that would open the door to the bulkhead and to our freedom. A moment later, the lock relented and the door swung slowly open. The group bolted through the threshold of the door, running as fast as their legs would take them. I followed, Kara still held tightly in my arms.

There was an ear-splitting crack from behind me. I kept running, my grip on Kara tightening.

A haze of red erupted across my field of vision. My legs continued to pump beneath me, never wavering.

Pain erupted through my body, blanketed only by the overwhelming shock that took me right then. Despite my determination, I faltered. The rest of the group began to grow smaller in the distance as I fell to my knees, unable to stop the wave of nausea that seized my stomach. Kara whimpered, and all at once I was reminded of her presence. I staggered to my feet, just to see Barbie stop and turn around, a look of pure terror flitting across her features.

The pain increased tenfold as the initial shock faded. And that was when I realised.

I wasn't getting out of here. Not alive, at least.

I turned and swung the bulkhead door shut behind me. It wouldn't buy us a lot of time, not with the guards' knowledge of the exit-code, but it was something. I set Kara on the ground, grunting as the movement tugged on the entry wound of the bullet now embedded in my shoulder. "Go," I urged her, voice hoarse. "I know it hurts, but you have to run. Get to Barbie, the blonde one over there, and she'll help you."

Kara just looked at me, eyes wide. She shook her head.

"GO!"

Something in my voice must have reached out to her, because she staggered backwards, a look of barely disguised pain flitting across her face as she rested on her bad ankle. Despite the agony, she turned and ran as fast as she could to where Barbie was waiting. The blonde-haired doctor remained rooted to the ground, staring at me in abject horror as Kara hobbled over to her.

"Get the _hell_ out of here, Barbie!" I growled, just as the door behind me was wrenched open. I turned around to face my attackers, hoping that my own feeble defence would provide Barbie and Kara the precious time they needed to get away. In the distance, I heard the sound of footsteps pounding against the asphalt, growing less and less audible. I didn't turn around to see if they had made it. I couldn't, because it was then that my aching body finally decided it had had enough. I knew quite well what awaited me inside those walls, but in that moment, I couldn't muster up the strength to care. After the beating, the running, and the shooting, I was exhausted.

It was over.

They had won.

I didn't move. I couldn't. One of the guards, clad in military fatigues, grabbed a hold of me by looping his hands under my armpits. His fingers dug into my flesh, and he jostled the ghastly flesh wound on my shoulder as he dragged me along the concrete floor of the warehouse. I cried out, feeling not unlike something was puncturing my shoulder through to the bone. I wasn't far off. I knew what that feeling was—the bullet was still lodged in there, and damn did it hurt. It splinted on impact, cutting through my flesh more than once. I had seen these wounds, knew what they did to the people who couldn't get into surgery quickly enough.

The darkness swallowed me whole, a cold, numbing reprieve to the pain that threatened to overwhelm me. It didn't last nearly long enough. I resurfaced to the feeling of the guards dragging me back into the base, heading towards the middle of it, where I knew Adrian D'Arques waited for me. I swallowed. I had provoked him, while being fully aware of the consequences...

But I had never anticipated this.

The pain I felt then was only a precursor to the agony that followed. I drifted in and out of consciousness, but I still heard his voice loud and clear in my head as I was thrown unceremoniously onto a table in the middle of the room.

"You will PAY for your indiscretions, Perry," D'Arques said, his voice full of barely concealed anger as he approached me. Three armed guards held me down as I flailed around desperately, my injured shoulder colliding painfully with the table's surface. I didn't care about the pain right then, because I knew it would be nothing compared to the agony I was about to experience. I was completely helpless, unable to do anything to save myself from the horror Adrian D'Arques was about to commit. He knew this, and he revelled in it. He pressed his palm against the fragmented wound in my shoulder. I howled with pain, unable to keep my screams to myself as he pressed against the unstoppable ache.

When D'Arques next spoke, his tone was reprimanding, as if he was speaking to a child who had just said a bad word. "Elliot Reid was to play a very important part in our plans. You have ruined that now by aiding in her escape." His voice hardened until it was completely cold, emotionless. "For this, I will carry out my previous threat. Goodbye, Perry Cox. You will never see me again."

I bit back a scream as a needle sunk deep into the crook of my elbow, releasing toxins that I knew would sooner kill me than relieve the pain I was in. The nodes they attached to my head didn't feel any better—they were like bullets to the brain, and they hurt just as much. My legs ached from the strain of my escape and their collision with the ground as I had fallen, and the heavy weight of the guard's hands pressing down on my knees didn't help the muscles any. Coils of plastic tubing, hastily attached, connected me to a machine behind me. I didn't know how it functioned or what it looked like; I could only hear the slow whirring of its fan as it was switched on. Electric blue liquid flowed down through the tubing and into my arms, entering my body like an IV. I could feel the trickling sensation of it being entered into my blood stream. It felt like acid, running through my veins, corroding every surface it came into contact with.

The pain was excruciating.

A dark figure loomed above me, the glint of a razor in his hands. It was D'Arques, his face blocking out the lights swinging overhead, casting his face into shadow. Though my entire body was contorting in pain and the world was spinning before me as the drug took effect, my mind managed to register the image perfectly. It was burnt into my brain, a permanent reminder that I, Perry Cox, was stupid enough to allow himself to be captured—stupid enough to care. As if the scars weren't enough, every time I would close my eyes from then on, I would see that image.

Probably because it was the last one I had.

* * *

_I'd always thought I knew fear more than most people. My childhood was never exactly a walk in the park—most days saw my father drink himself into a fit of alcoholic rage and proceed to throw leather belts and broken beer bottles at my head. It's a common misconception, one that I don't even bother trying to correct anymore, that this was the time in my life where my innocence was stolen from me. I was, after all, only a small and vulnerable child. But that wasn't it. The truth of the matter was that I was too young to contemplate or even remember most of what happened in that house. The trauma stole the fear from my mind and, when my father died, those memories died with him. I buried them the day I buried him, and what I did remember only made me stronger. Most people believe that the apathy I felt towards my father from then on—the same apathy I feel now—was a facade for the deep-seeded betrayal I truly felt. But that wasn't it either. I don't hate him. He's not worthy of my hate. No, the one thing I knew would have destroyed him had he still been alive was my indifference. God only knows that if there's one thing I'm good at, it's destroying._

_So I grew up the emotionally-crippled young boy who refused to be forgotten, but I didn't grow up without my innocence. I didn't grow up with the fear._

_No, when I say that I knew fear more than most people, it was what had happened after my childhood, my teenage years and my adolescence that I believed gave me that experience. It was what happened when I became a doctor—what happens to most people when they become doctors. Suddenly, the world seems far too real a place—and not a good one, either. People kill for greed, money, lust and sometimes for no reason at all. It's human nature, the art of survival._

_I always thought the most terrifying feeling in the world was that feeling—to open your eyes and suddenly see everything so completely wrong with society._

_I was wrong._

_The most terrifying feeling in the world is to open your eyes and suddenly see nothing._

* * *

_My remaining memories of that night are few and far between. The drug I had been given, whatever it was, rid me of the pain of the experience, forcing me into a different level of consciousness where it somehow became bearable. The emotions I had felt so strongly earlier—the fear, the anticipation, the dread—had all disappeared alongside the physical ache. I saw nothing. I felt nothing. The only thing that remained was the void. _

_I didn't have the luxury of unconsciousness, or even sleep. I don't know how long I stayed like that, drifting. Somewhere amongst the minutes, hours and days the pain returned and I curled into myself in hope that it would somehow relieve the brutal agony I was experiencing. It didn't. I never screamed, spoke or whimpered. I never made a sound. It was the one thing I had control over, and if I lost that, I would lose myself. For once in my entire life, my ability to be a complete control freak worked in my favour. It kept me strong. It kept me alive, when I didn't know how to live..._

_Somewhere along the line, the emotions I had tried so hard to suppress returned as well. The shock faded quickly, but I was far from acceptance. After god knows how long I spent half-comatose in that state, I had finally woken._

_The results weren't pretty._

* * *

Darkness flooded every available surface. The sickening feeling of dread pooled in my stomach as I turned my head every which way, trying to get a glimpse of anything but shadow. There was nothing. I couldn't even be sure if my eyes were closed or open, or if I even had eyes anymore. A thick wetness dribbled down my face, and I raised my hands to touch it. The wounds on my face were jagged and open, exposed to the thick air around me—exposed to the blackness. I couldn't tell if the pulp that slid down my face was flesh, blood, or a mixture of both, but I knew I had to find out. I had to find out if there was any way I could still see.

It was absolute agony, but I lifted the torn flesh of my eyelids and sought purchase in the blackness.

There was nothing.

I began to shake—out of shock, fear, sadness or anger, I'm not sure, but once it began it wouldn't stop. My breathing grew heavier as I attempted to stagger to my feet, but I was unable to tell whether or not I was successful. There was no sense of direction in the void; I couldn't tell what way was left, right, up or down.

It was absolutely petrifying.

My mind was in a state similar to that of my body; complete chaos. The mesh of emotions I currently wore on my sleeve began to blur the lines between sanity and psychosis as I slipped further in. There was no escaping the realisations that waited there for me, but I held onto my denial like a vice. This wasn't possible. This could _not _happen. Not when I had been so close to getting out of here. Not when I had been so close to saving Jenny.

I shook harder at the thought. _God, Jenny._ Thinking of what D'Arques had done to her—what he planned to do—made me sick to my stomach.

"_There's no escape."_

The macabre echo of Adrian D'Arques' voice crashed against my ears, calling out to me from a trajectory I couldn't see, luring me into this endless maze of confusion, chaos and death. I couldn't do this. Not again. This couldn't happen.

This wasn't_ supposed _to happen, damn it!

Perry Cox was the best of the best. He wasn't supposed to be broken down, beaten—_blind._

It couldn't end like this. I couldn't—

With nothing to focus on, no sense of direction, my legs fell out from under me. The next thing I knew, my face was pressed against the cold floor, my cheek throbbing with a dull ache from the collision. I revelled in the sensation, a welcome reminder that I could still feel amidst the black, that I was still human. But in thinking of Adrian D'Arques and all the horrors he had committed—not only against me, but my daughter and my colleagues—I realised I didn't _want_ to be human anymore. I wanted to be more than that. I wanted to rise above the National Guard's—and anybody else's—control. I wanted to be a whole new category of threat, with my own agenda. I wanted to be distinguished, renowned; like I had made sure I was for my entire life. I wanted to strike fear into the hearts of people like Adrian D'Arques, and inspire hope in people like Barbie, Jenny, and that child, Kara. I wanted to be someone unrecognisable.

I wanted to become a stranger.

* * *

_The time that passed between that instant and my next moment of lucidity felt nothing short of a life-time, but I knew better. If it were weeks, or even days, I would have already been dead. The blood poured from my wounds all too quickly, seeping through my clothes into the cold floor below. No, this could only have been hours—a day, perhaps. I don't believe D'Arques ever intended for me to die there, if the ease in which the extraction team breached the main gates was any indication. It's almost like he wanted them to find me. Perhaps it was all part of his plan—his next move in the sick and twisted game he believed we were playing together. Maybe it was something else entirely. I don't know, and I sure as hell don't care. If we ever meet again—which I'm sure we will—I'll put a bullet in his brain with absolutely no hesitation. The world's a big place, Adrian, but you'll always be sure to run into a stranger out there._

_And what about Jenny, you ask?_

_I wasn't there to save her._

_It turns out I didn't need to be._

_Of all the things I have learnt over the years, of everything I have adapted to, lived by and, admittedly, ranted at, there is one lesson so far ingrained in my knowledge that it has become second nature to me. That lesson? The enemy is not infallible. They were right about one thing, though. Jennifer Dylan—my beautiful, baby girl—was the second. Not to die, not to carry the virus on to others as the Collective had planned, but to survive._

_The first was her saviour._

_JD._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Forgive me for the lack of detail in regards to the end of this. I was faced with the ultimate choice while writing it—I could either continue going on with the story, but have this interlude cut into yet another part, or I could finish it off quickly here and maybe explore the events of after in JD's point of view when we finally get up to his interlude. A couple of things will be wrapped up next chapter, wherein JD asks the questions that are on everyone's minds. In saying that, I have to ask: **What do you want to know? Is there anything in particular you're confused about, or absolutely have to know the answer to?** I'd happily incorporate any questions into the next chapter, if I don't have plans to reveal them at any other given time. That's all from me for now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you have the time, perhaps you could drop in a review? Perry would definitely appreciate it. ;)

**EXTRA—**_**PERRY'S PLAYLIST**_**:** Hand-picked from yours truly.

1. The Velorium Camper I: Faint of Hearts by Coheed and Cambria.  
"_If there was nothing you could do to stop it, why'd you try? The ground starts parting through the silence as you woke up the dead. Everything here dies alone . . ."_

2. When Angels Fly Away by Cold.  
"_I'll make a soldier's decision to fly away—load my gun, paint my face, call me misery. I can see the sky light up and the ground explode."_

3. Going In Blind by Payable on Death.  
"_Time after time, I walk the fine line, but something keeps bringing me back. Time after time, I'm going in blind, I don't know which way I need to go."_

4. Swallow People Whole by The Receiving End of Sirens.  
"_Within me is a gaping hole, it seems I'm last to know—no one, or thing, can fill this empty space that I've been pacing in. I fell in love with an empty place, I want change, but I won't change."_

5. Blind by Placebo.  
"_If I could tear you from the ceiling, I'd freeze us both in time—find a brand new way of seeing, your eyes forever glued to mine. Don't go and leave me, and please don't drive me blind."_

-- _Exangeline._


	15. The Calm

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, especially not the characters of this story, who've all recently decided that Perry overthrowing the system that one time last chapter was not enough, and have now united in a ploy to change the original plot for this arc, including insanely long monologues, new characters, gunshot wounds and general douchebaggery. I almost feel sorry for myself. Lyrics in this arc belong to Breaking Benjamin, and are all from their new _Dear Agony_ album, which I honestly can't stop listening to. This rivals Bear McCreary, guys, and _he's_ the most played artist on my iPod. Hope you love 'em as much as I do.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Sorry for the long wait between updates, but real life has a way of just getting to you. I won't bore you with the details, but the important part is that I'm _back_, baby!

**PLEASE READ THIS****: **A lot of people have most likely noticed the gap that Perry leaves out between him being rescued from the base where he was kidnapped and JD supposedly curing Jennifer Dylan. **While I will not be going into detail with these events in _My Trigger, _I have begun to write a side-story called _My Red Flag_** about what occurs in the dystopian future between Perry being taken hostage and JD finding the cure. If you're interested, I'd really appreciate it if you gave it a try. If enough people like it, I'll continue the project.

As for now, here's Chapter XI for your troubles. Thanks for reading.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Into the Nothing _by Breaking Benjamin.

* * *

**PART III—**_**PRISONERS OF WAR.**_

**CHAPTER XI: THE CALM**

_Screaming on the inside, I am frail and withered,  
Cover up the wounds that I can't hide.  
Walls that lie between us, the saint within the sinner,  
__I have lost the nerve, but it's alright.  
Carry the wounded and shut your eyes,  
All will be forgiven, and none will rise..._

At the same time that JD was making his way to Sacred Heart through the twists and turns of traffic, Jordan Sullivan was dealing with her own problems. These problems, at first glance, had looked to be only a few simple obstacles on their rocky path to success—something that was turning out to be a very wrong assumption indeed. Instead of remaining a few small annoyances, the bulk of Jordan's problems were now rapidly coalescing to form one _gigantic _problem.

This gigantic problem happened to have a name.

Argyle Cox.

Jordan huffed, fixating her sight on the man in question. She shouldn't have been surprised at his reaction, really, when she'd brought up the details of their next move. He didn't approve of anything she said or did—especially when it came down to the fact that they were using an old, downtrodden warehouse for their base of operations. But, as she had explained to him on more than one occasion, they hardly had any say in the matter. The sphere, despite all of its technological capabilities was still a huge hunk of iridescent metal. It'd be difficult to move, even for their resident 'mandroid', whom she still refused to call her brother. The dagger of pain in her heart twisted at that thought, bile rising to her throat as the familiar ache of losing Ben swept over her. It didn't help that they'd made that _machine_ in his image, walking around with her brother's smile, his voice, his _memories_ . . .

She derailed that train of thought as soon as it swept upon her. She needed to return to the task at hand—there would be plenty of time _after_ they saved the world to be bitter about things.

Jordan _was_ feeling pretty bitter about being the one stuck with Argyle Cox, though. And if he was going to provoke her, then all bets were off.

"I do not understand why we are even arguing about this. After all, it was _you_ who invited me here, _you_ who asked for my help. And now you deny me that ability?" Argyle's voice was completely calm, as he had remained throughout the entire conversation. Somehow, that infuriated Jordan more than anything else. Before she could contemplate carrying out the sudden urge she had to physically deface him, Argyle continued to speak, his voice softening: "Allow me to do what I do best, Miss Sullivan. Allow me to reason with these people, get them on our side, help them _fight_ with us. You said yourself that you need allies, and guidance. I can get you both if you will just _let_ me."

There was a patronising tone in his voice, as if he were talking to an uncooperative child. Jordan swallowed her immediate response—which was something along the lines of: _What you do best? You mean _torture_ right?_—and fell silent.

She knew—they _all_ knew—that they were in serious trouble here. Even if DJ managed to find the supposed 'miracle cure' to the virus, they still had to stop it from spreading in the first place. Her future ex-husband and son drew up a solid negative on anything that had to do with the first carrier of the virus, the same unlucky individual that spread the infection to thousands more. She wasn't lying to Sally either when she told him that she couldn't see anything past that first wave of infection, something that disturbed her considerably. It didn't help that Perry and Jack were incredibly tight-lipped about it—they offered no reprieve from the dark feeling of dread that pooled in her stomach whenever she thought on the possibility of not knowing what was to come. She had spent her entire life knowing what would happen before it did, and the idea of suddenly losing that scared her more than she'd care to admit.

Composing herself, Jordan squared her gaze and asked: "What do you propose?"

It was a struggle to keep her tone polite. Argyle either didn't notice, or knew all too well. Based upon his and his assistant's occupation of choice, Jordan would guess it was option two. He pursed his lips, studying her for a brief moment before allowing his mask of professionalism to slip for a single moment and reveal the wolfish grin underneath.

"You will see," was all he said.

The cocky look was all too familiar to her. Jordan had long since given up denying the immediate similarities between the man before her and her ex-husband. Both were exceedingly insufferable—stubborn as hell with an ego the size of a small country. Perry would deny it to his dying breath, but they were a lot more alike than given credit for. At the very least, she could see how some of Argyle Cox's habits had worn off on his nephew.

Jordan was pulled away from her observations when Argyle called for his assistant. The man—Keith Something-Or-Other—arrived only moments later from a small room on the other side of the hangar.

"Yes, General?" he asked, matching Argyle's smirk with one of his own. Jordan felt like she had been transported into a bad superhero movie, where the villains were all fake, high-pitched laughter and long monologues that sounded more like teen angst poetry than a story with any true, horrific plot. She wasn't sure which part about her situation creeped her out more: the fact that somebody had actually promoted Argyle Cox to General, the way his assistant practically hissed his name when he spoke, or the fact that she was beginning to daydream like DJ.

She decided it was a tie between all three.

"Bring the team leader of the remaining soldiers to me. We have business to discuss."

Keith nodded, flashing his sharp, white teeth at Jordan as he left. Once he was out of hearing distance, and Jordan had shucked off the feeling that he'd just raped her soul with his smile, she hissed: "What the hell are you doing?"

Argyle had the nerve to look confused.

Jordan scowled. "You are _not_ in charge here. _I _am."

Argyle smirked. "Actually, as far as I'm concerned, my nephew—or the man pretending to be my nephew—is. As he is not here, I do believe that we are at an impasse. Unless, of course, you could get him to tell me directly that you are in charge in his absence?" Jordan frowned, but said nothing. He knew all too well that she didn't know where Perry was. His smile grew as the silence stretched out between them. "That is what I thought."

He turned to Keith, who had just swung open the bulk-head door. Behind him was a tall man dressed in military fatigues, his curly, jet-black hair swept off of his face to reveal a pair of inquisitive hazel eyes as he surveyed the room. His eyes fell on the sphere behind Jordan, and she heard him take in a sharp breath. Argyle waited patiently for the man, showing no outward signs of frustration as the soldier gaped at the super massive, revolving machine.

Jordan hid her amusement behind a small cough. "So this is the head of the attack force? Wow, I'm impressed. Looks like you'll be discussing a lot of business then."

Argyle shot her a sideways glance, while the man averted his gaze at last from the giant sphere to her face. She stared back at him, silently taken aback by the lack of embarrassment on his face. It took a lot for even the most experienced soldier not to crumble in front of his superior, but this man did a fairly good job. Perhaps he was less insipid than she'd thought.

"What's your name, Soldier?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence that had thickened the room as easily as if it were a knife through butter. The man smiled at her in response. It wasn't a kind smile, but she suspected that nobody's in this room was. He stepped forward, offering her a hand. She took it in a tight shake, still aware that he had not answered her question. She told him as such.

"I am not a soldier, Miss—?"

"Sullivan," she answered, privately pleased that he had gone with '_Miss_'instead of _'Ma'am_'. "If you're not a soldier, then what are you?"

His smile broadened. "I'm a team leader, Miss Sullivan. Our group is a private contractor to the government, but we also extend our services to other agencies, provided they meet our price." He turned to Argyle. "I assume that is what you wanted to discuss, sir? I must warn you now—our services aren't cheap."

Jordan rolled her eyes. "They don't seem to be that proficient, either. We took you down without a single casualty to our team."

The man—who still hadn't disclosed his name—nodded calmly at her. "It was to be expected. Despite what you may have assumed based upon our formation and appearance, my team wasn't designed to kill, or even to attack. We're a protective detail who was contracted to an agency who had at first led us to believe that the mission was to be an extraction of one of their undercover agents. When we arrived here, however, the representative from their agency changed our mission objective. Obscene and unforseen. We did the best we could with our weaponry, but we were not prepared for that fight, Miss Sullivan."

"We wounded three of your men. One is dead. Doesn't that make you a little angry, team leader?" Argyle sent a stern look from over the man's shoulder at her, but Jordan kept her eyes firmly on the man's face.

"No, Miss. Despite the change in objective, each and every one of my men knew the risks associated with the job. You may have wounded my men, but you also treated them. If anything, I am to be grateful."

"If we may talk business, now?" Argyle asked, cutting into the conversation. Jordan let her eyes stray from the man's face to that of the General's, who was staring at her with an indecipherable expression. Jordan gave a curt nod and allowed him to take over the negotiations. She stepped back and out of her active place in the conversation, content to see the rest of the scene unfold.

That all flew out of the window when the matter of price arose.

"That's ridiculous!" She yelled at Argyle after hearing him agree to double their starting rate. After allowing her rage to simmer for a moment, she scoffed. "It's them who need us more, not the other way around. And before you berate me for that too, _General,_ it wasn't me who said that: Perry did."

Argyle shook his head, but he was smiling. "You can force their hand, Miss Sullivan, or you can follow through with their request. Which one do you think will help gain you their trust?" He paused, as if considering something for a moment. "You said that Perry told you this?"

Jordan nodded apprehensively, unsure of where this line of questioning was taking them. The team leader, whatever his name was, stood idly by with an amused smile, listening.

However, Argyle simply grinned wickedly at her.

"Perhaps he is my nephew after all."

* * *

JD slid down the concrete block in stunned silence, falling in an unceremonious heap on the roof's weathered floor. The contents of his stomach gyrated painfully within its walls, his body's reaction to the shock he had received unable—or, perhaps, unwilling—to fade. He rested his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees as he scrubbed his palm across his face. It felt as if every fragment of energy that had brought him here had been drained prematurely.

Doctor Cox squatted in front of him, the bulk of his trench-coat pooling at JD's feet. The young doctor looked up at him with bloodshot blue eyes and the older man flinched. He looked afraid.

JD averted his eyes a moment later, staring at a spot just above Doctor Cox's right shoulder. In a small voice, he asked: "You said the Collective did this to you because of me. Why?"

His gaze flickered back to Doctor Cox as the elder man thought on his response, eyes taking in everything there was about the rugged face before him. The auburn-haired man looked exhausted, his eyes expressing a weariness that every line and feature on his face emphasised. It was an expression he had seen on his Doctor Cox a lot, too—the look of a man being crushed under the weight of his own inner demons. This time, however, JD saw more than the stresses of the job in the groves and cracks of his face. He saw a man who had experienced a brutal and terrifying war, and who hadn't come back from it unscathed. He saw a man who was trying desperately to keep a hold of the things that mattered, the things that kept him alive; human. He saw a man who would do anything and everything to safeguard those things, to protect the ones he loved. He saw a man forced by circumstance to become more than himself, to fill the shoes of those who had passed before him and lead his people—and the world—into victory. He saw a man forced to become a hero, who believed himself to be anything but, but was in fact better.

He saw the true essence of Percival Ulysses Cox.

And it was stunning.

That was before he even swept his eyes across the scars, a permanent reminder of everything he had lost, of all the new responsibilities he had gained, and of mankind's inhumanity. They were an angry red, jagged and uncoordinated, as if the person who had carved them was experiencing a great deal of resistance against his blade. JD almost smiled at that thought—Doctor Cox never gave up fighting, not even when the odds were against him. It was in that moment that he resolved, come what may, that he would always look at those scars as a sign of that courage; any other thought, observation or idea paled in comparison to the bravery it took to come out of that horror a better man. Perhaps that wasn't the way Doctor Cox saw it, but JD had seen stronger men fall from a lesser height and never recover. His resilience was remarkable. If it hadn't been, there wasn't a doubt in JD's mind that he would be dead now. They all would have been. Underneath his torn eyelids, Doctor Cox looked out at him with vibrant blue eyes; the same pair of eyes JD had been looking into for the past five years.

"I don't blame you, Newbie, and I never will, but it was you. Always, it was you. I left everybody I knew and loved behind in that shit-hole of a world. I became a killer. I sacrificed my _sight._ I rebelled against everything and anything that made me who I was. And I did it—all of it—for you. Because after everything, you still saw me as the same pathetic excuse of a mentor. You had faith in me when all faith was lost. When not even I, in all my fantastic, narcissistic glory, could have faith in myself and be-_lieve _you me, Princess, I tried." Doctor Cox stared directly at him, eyes glassy. "Even after our infiltration failed and I was taken hostage, even after my only chance of escape fell through, even after that bastard D'Arques threatened my baby girl and slashed open my eyes and left me for dead I held onto that stupid, useless hope that you'd still look up to me if I survived."

JD drew in a deep, shuddering breath, unable and unwilling to stop the emotions rising to his chest. He didn't know what to say, what to feel. It was as if every feeling he had ever had—the good and the bad—were pooling in his lungs and forcing all the air out of him. "Of course I would, Doctor Cox." He raised a trembling hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. "And if I didn't, then the person I am all those years in the future doesn't deserve to be alive."

The smile that appeared on the older man's face was barely visible, soft and minute, but it filled JD with a feeling of warmth he hadn't sincerely felt for a long time.

The warmth grew when Doctor Cox replied: "You did more than that, kid." His mentor took a deep breath and placed the palm of his hand firmly on the concrete rooftop, steadying himself. "You didn't just save me, Newbie. You saved my daughter. She had the Juvenile virus—was the second carrier of it, in fact—and you saved her. You saved thousands of people by stopping that virus from spreading. And still, _you_ were the one who looked up to _me._ You did what hundreds of experts could never do; you fought when no one else would. And still, you never did let up on the idea that I was your mentor."

JD smiled. "That's because you are my mentor."

"Don't start this again, Newberella," Doctor Cox said sternly, but there was laughter in his eyes. "You know I always win."

"True that."

"Damn straight."

The silence that stretched out between them from then on was a comfortable one, one that didn't need to be broken by small talk or evasive excuses. Doctor Cox had moved from his kneeling position in front of him to sit at his side against the rooftop's solid concrete barrier. As his eyes strayed from his face to the afternoon sky, JD realised that, for the first time since this whole escapade had begun, there was nothing else he needed to know. Sure, there were things he'd like to find out, some of which were still eating at him even now, but he didn't _need_ to know them. As long as he had this—this understanding, this _friendship_ with the man seated next to him—he didn't need anything else. At last he felt like he had earned the respect of his forever begrudged mentor. It seemed it had taken an apocalypse to do it—_would_ take an apocalypse to do it—but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he was at peace.

Which was why he was so surprised when it was, in fact, himself who first broke the silence that fell between them.

"Doctor Cox?"

"Hm?"

"You said a name before—'Dark', was it?" He asked hesitantly. "Who—"

Doctor Cox interrupted him mid-question. This wasn't surprising. What was, however, was the fact that the older man didn't sound angry at all, just tired. "The person who gave me these scars is a man named Adrian D'Arques. You've never heard of him and, if I have it my way and this all goes well, you never will." He paused, briefly, before averting his eyes from his hands to JD's face. Then he sighed. "Unfortunately, at the rate we're going, he'll become a big part of your life in four, maybe five years. Before you ask, Newbie, he's the Collective's go-to guy; the one they get to do their dirty work. And D'Arques will do it, alright. He already has."

Doctor Cox's words were laced with gut-wrenching weariness and a rage that was all too raw, but the dominant expression on his face was one of sadness. JD's heart ached for him, and he chastised himself for making him bring up such a painful subject. He was just about to dismiss the conversation, to tell Doctor Cox that he needn't say anymore, but the older man continued.

"I was taken prisoner in the middle of an infiltration, like I told you, on one of the Collective's smaller bases, where D'Arques promised that this—" he motioned to the jagged, red slits that ran from his eyebrows to the tip of his cheekbones "—would happen if I didn't do exactly what he said. And me being me, of course, didn't. So . . ."

"So?" JD prompted softly.

Doctor Cox looked up at him, face deadpan. "He did it. He blinded me, just like he said he would."

JD's melancholy thoughts on the subject and his guilt about making Doctor Cox revisit it came to a staggering holt at that moment. "Wait—_what?_ He _blinded_ you? But then—" He motioned to Doctor Cox's face. "—_How_?"

Doctor Cox offered him a small smile, amused by his surprise, perhaps. "Ocular implants," was all he offered as a reply.

JD's hands lifted of their own accord. Only when they were inches away from Doctor Cox's face did he stop and cough, feeling foolish as he asked: "Can I take a look?"

He received a nod in response.

That was enough for him. JD looked deep into Doctor Cox's eyes, scrutinising every detail. The auburn-haired man barely even flinched. In fact, he seemed utterly at peace, even when JD reached out the rest of the way to grip the sides of his face. JD himself, on the other hand, was in a state of disarray; unsure, really, of whether to be disturbed or excited by this new piece of information. The eyes looked a flawless, almost brilliant blue and they stared back at him with perfect clarity. He smiled slightly when Doctor Cox blinked, his scarred eyelids flitting down and hiding his eyes from view. A moment later, they flickered open again, his dilated pupils contracting.

"Wow," he breathed. "If it weren't for the scars . . ."

Doctor Cox cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably—the first sound the older doctor had made since JD started his impromptu examination. "They're far from perfect, Newbie."

The words came out strained and awkward, which was enough to remind JD about how this had all came to be in the first place. He shook his head and leaned back, giving the man some space. "I'm sorry," he murmured, feeling awful. "That was insensitive of me, Doctor Cox. I didn't mean to imply that what happened to you was anything but terrible."

JD could barely contain his surprise when Doctor Cox's response to his heartfelt apology was to roll his eyes.

"I don't need your pity, Ophelia, and I sure as hell don't want you to apologise. Why do you think I'm up here _brooding_? It's not because of my own stupid problems, least of all my sight. What's done is done—I know that. But this?" He motioned to JD, who continued to stare dumbstruck at him. "This is _my _fault. I mean, hell, Newbie, how can you not blame me for everything that's happened to you in the last couple of days? You were beaten within an inch of your life by two psychopathic brothers, you contracted a virus that rivals even our worst documented cases, and you've never received a single straight answer to any of your questions, not to mention the fact that you were unfairly involved in this whole nightmare in the first place. That's on me, kid, one hundred percent, and I wasn't even a man about it either. I ran away with my tail between my legs like the un-potty-trained labradoodle I always knew _you _were and waited for _you_ to seek _me_ out. I should've been there, JD, and I wasn't. Still look up to me now?"

A small smile graced his lips. "You called me JD."

Doctor Cox rewarded him with another eye roll. Then he asked, exasperatedly: "That's _really_ all you got out of that? That I called you by your name?" JD nodded and Doctor Cox sighed. "Unbelievable."

A long silence followed after those words, and JD wasn't sure what to think. He didn't understand, for one, how Doctor Cox could have such a low view of himself. He'd had no control over what had happened to him—in fact, he'd saved his life. The Knott brothers would have found him sooner or later and if Doctor Cox hadn't been around when he was, JD would most likely have been beaten to death. Sure, he didn't exactly ask to be pulled into this, but it showed him how much these people—Jordan, Jack, and Doctor Cox himself, of course—trusted him, enough so that they'd tell him what it was all about. He understood that there were things he couldn't know yet, and while it was frustrating at the time, he could deal with that. As for the virus? It sucked, but he knew that he'd get through it so long as Doctor Cox was there to back him up. And from the look that the older man was giving him now, JD knew that he would be.

He also knew that now he had to take his leave. There were still things to be discussed, but those were conversations for another day.

"I've taken up enough of your time, Doctor Cox. You probably want to be alone, and I respect that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." JD nodded curtly and stood, beginning towards the roof-top entrance. He felt strangely calm, even after hearing everything that Doctor Cox had to say. What had happened to him—what the Collective had done to him and the people he loved—was horrifying, and JD would never, ever forgive them for that, but instead of leaving him divided, it simply strengthened his resolve. He was going to do this, and he was going to succeed. He _had_ to.

"Perry."

JD stopped in his tracks, turning on his heel to face the older man. "What?" He asked, softly, the confusion clear in his voice but a small smile gracing his features nonetheless.

"You can call me Perry."

JD's smile melted into a full-blown grin. "Why?"

He saw the auburn-haired man shrug, even from his place twelve paces away. "You'll get confused, otherwise. You're dealing with two of me, after all, and it's less of a sacrifice on my part. I'll tell you now, though, Newbie—you re-he-he-_heally_ don't want to slip up and call my present-self Perry. He'll be on you so quickly, that not even I'll be able to stop him. And why would I? The man's a genius."

For the first time in what felt like forever, JD's responding laugh was genuine.

_Into the nothing,  
Faded and weary,  
I won't leave and let you fall behind.  
Live for the dying,  
Heaven hear me,  
I know we can make it out alive._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **I love this chapter. Wholly and completely, I do. It battled me every step of the way, but it was so worth it. I really hope the scene between JD and Perry was written as good as I had seen it in my head. I really love reading about the budding friendship between JD and Doctor Cox, and decided to try my hand at writing a half-fluffy, half-angsty scene between the two. But it doesn't matter what I think, really, but whether you guys like it. It takes a second, maybe two, to review, and I'd really love to know what you think. Until next time, however, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

-- _Exangeline_


	16. The Storm

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, not even the plot, which is more a combination of my favourite devices. Lyrics in this arc belong to Breaking Benjamin, and are all from their new _Dear Agony_ album, which I honestly can't stop listening to.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Things fly by so fast that I feel not unlike Perry in this chapter—breathless to catch up. Thank you all for your amazing support, and I hope this next chapter (appropriately titled "The Storm" in comparison to the last chapter "The Calm") lives up to your kind words. Enjoy!

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **IMPORTANT. **Parts of this story have been updated since it's original post.** Nothing major has changed, bar a few sentences here and there. Still, the revised edition (or, well, the extended version, since the word count says it's longer than it was before) is much better than the original, so please re-read it if you have the chance. Thanks.

Lyrics adapted by the song _Fade Away_ by Breaking Benjamin_._

* * *

**CHAPTER XII: THE STORM**

_It's hopeless; the end will come and wash it all away—  
__Forsaken, I live for those I lost along the way,  
__And I can't remember how it all began to break;  
__You suffer, I live to fight and die another day. _

Within the relative darkness of the hospital's fifth floor on-call room, Doctor Perry Cox felt the mask on his face wither and die. It had been a brutal, gruelling day, so much more than usual. With Newbie out for the count, he'd found himself with double the amount of patients that he usually had, and even on a good day—when all he had to worry about was his own patient load—he was being pushed well past his proverbial breaking point. Today he had felt not unlike a yo-yo, with each of Newbie's patients expecting the same inhuman degree of attention from him that Carol, Princess Neediness herself, provided them with day in and day out. But even as that very thought crossed his mind, he knew he wasn't being honest with himself. The issue plaguing his mind wasn't one about medicine at all, but the inexplicable dread he had felt pooling in his stomach, growing slowly in frequency and intensity as every hour passed.

Perry understood a lot of things, and anything he didn't understand, he researched the hell out of until he did. But he didn't think he'd ever find a book or a case study that could properly describe the terrible feeling growing in his gut. He knew how to deal with fear; he knew how to deal with dread—hell, he even knew how to deal with both of them at once. But never—ne-_hever_—had it brought him to such a staggering halt before. Never had it eaten away at so many of his personal defences so quickly that he could feel them breaking, one after another, in a near perpetual rhythm. Never had it brought him to his knees so swift and unexpectedly that he felt near breathless to catch up...

Never had he felt it crawl up his throat before, sealing it shut so tightly that it left him clawing at his face helplessly until it finally relinquished its hold just long enough for him to draw a single, shuddering breath.

But he felt it now. He felt it every minute of every hour of the day.

He felt it every time he closed his eyes to go to sleep, only to wake up in a fevered panic at the early hours of morning, rendered speechless by the utter lucidity and reality of his dreams.

Perry blinked in the darkness, staring at the black shadow of the bunk above him, and began to wonder when, exactly, it was that he had become so damn pathetic.

For a long time he'd thought it was about the transplant patients, even though he'd dealt with that issue with his shrink months ago. Sometimes he swore he could still see Dave Bradford out the corner of his eye—a wash of his brown hair, the corner of his crooked smile—or even Jill Tracey, with that sad smile she wore on her face the last time he'd seen her alive. He'd soon realised, however, that this had nothing to do with them at all. His budding anxiety these past few days was easy to mask behind the idea that Jordan seemed to be growing increasingly interested in Newbie, and perhaps some of his accumulated fear could be attributed to the fact that the two most important people in his life, bar his son, were disappearing into the early hours of the morning with one another.

But he'd seen the way that the kid had looked at him, with an expression that could have almost resembled curiosity—an expression that told him he had never considered how somebody could think that before, an expression that soon morphed into discomfort as Perry stared him down. It was the look of a man who was keeping a secret, but one that had nothing to do with what he was being accused of—and that was when the dread had really hit its peak, Perry realised, because that's when he'd known—not considered, not suspected, not assumed, but _known_, the way he knew his own name, or the fact that Jack takes a personal offence to any kind of spaghetti—that there was something _big_ going on.

And JD knew about it.

Which meant, by the process of deduction, Jordan knew about it too.

He hoped against hope that it didn't have anything to do with what was going on with him—with the terrifying dreams of death and decay, of angry, red scars running vertically—_painfully_—across his own face as it stared back at him, blue eyes lit with an ethereal glow, the small white-blue sparks of constant electricity flitting over the surface as if they were the only reason he was even able to see at all. The image hung like a sunspot in front of him, dancing across his vision, and in that moment it was all too much. Wracked with dread, fear, exhaustion and regret, his body pushed him down into the beginnings of a restless, deep sleep.

The blood and carnage was there, waiting for him, when his eyes closed shut. He allowed it to pull him under without so much as a sigh. He'd long since got used to the idea that the dreams would occur with or without his permission. It hurt less if he was a willing subject.

The first thing he heard was a scream. It took a moment before he realised it was his own.

* * *

The first conclusion that Jordan made about the team leader was that he was a mass of contradictions. He presented himself as an approachable man, yet he wouldn't give her his name. He described himself as a negotiator, but the bulging muscles that could be seen under his TAC vest said explicitly otherwise. The only thing that seemed to be true was his story—that he and his group really had no idea that this was going to be a shoot-to-kill mission up until the last moment—and the only reason why Jordan knew this was so was because she hadn't seen the attack coming until it did, which meant that it couldn't have possibly been premeditated by his group. Jordan absently rubbed the tender spot on the back of her head where the soldier's gun had bruised her; unable to shake the feeling that she had failed them, despite the fact that she knew quite well that none of this was her fault. _Guilt is a weird thing, _she supposed. _Just like these negotiations._

She had anticipated the negotiations, and knew the outcome would eventually even itself out. It didn't take away the fact that her gut was screaming that this was all a terrible idea, that they really shouldn't get involved with private contractors designed to infiltrate and extract people, and whom were ultimately charged with the responsibility of killing them. She knew the tides had turned, that circumstances had changed and that the original mission indeed wouldn't play out, but that didn't stop the feeling of apprehension that shook her. She felt almost unnaturally at ease with the team leader, which reinforced her idea that he was indeed not what he seemed. In the very unlikely event that he really was as good a man as he appeared, it was his job was to make people trust him—something that immediately set Jordan back on high alert. She had an almost sinking feeling that this man was _very_ good at his job.

From her place on the sidelines, Jordan observed the way that the two men spoke to one another. Argyle no longer kept up any pretences as he laid down their terms, appearing as frightening as his job description suggested—gone was the charismatic old man with the welcoming blue eyes and in was the soldier, the man as well trained for the delicate art of manipulation as he was for the fight. It was almost like a battle for dominance, and Jordan couldn't deny that the team leader was giving it as good as he got. Something in his hazel eyes had hardened, and it chilled Jordan to the bone. She knew that look, she'd seen it almost constantly whenever she got a glimpse of her ex-husband's future counterpart. It was the look of a man who had suffered greatly, and had learnt from it, but had not emerged from the suffering entirely unchanged.

It set part her mind at ease about him, at least for now, as any kindred spirit of Perry's was one of hers as well. While she decided to keep an eye out for him, the thought also reminded her that there was a much larger threat out there—and he was playing for their team.

Jordan knew how to be civil, she knew how to train her thoughts directly on the here and now—because every decision, every chance, idea and assumption mattered in some way or the other. In no way would she ever be nice, because it simply wasn't her style, but she knew how to be quiet when it mattered. That accumulated patience, however, was slowly dwindling and had begun doing so the moment Argyle Cox opened his big mouth and started making promises they couldn't keep. Jordan didn't exactly have a strict preference on what she'd like to happen to him if these negotiations failed, but she was beginning to believe that he needed to be affixed with a permanent muzzle.

Or tied up.

Or shot.

She wasn't big on the whole murder thing, but she believed she could make an exception when it came to General Argyle Cox. She couldn't deny the fact that he was good at what he did—that he was swaying them into the right place to make the best kind of deal possible—but what he was doing to Jordan's nerves in the meantime was completely butchering her composure, thereby ruining _everything. _While she figured he'd probably get a pretty decent kick out of it, Jordan didn't think that Perry would take too kindly to her killing his Uncle.

_Damn._

It was in the middle of Jordan's homicidal reverie—and finalising the terms of the negotiation—that JD arrived, rescuing her from having to hear Argyle drone on about how it really _would_ be easier on them all if they relocated to one of his military bases, despite how many times Jordan motioned to the sphere from behind the team leader's back with an exasperated scowl. It seemed the words _'huge hunk of iridescent metal'_ meant nothing to him after all, and he was ruthless in pursing the idea that they move. Not that Jordan was listening, but Argyle had a way of grating on people's nerves until they gave in. It had yet to work on her, though she was sufficiently pissed off.

JD's appearance was like a godsend to Jordan, and while she spared a thought to how pathetic it was that his interruption—or _any_ interruption, really—could make her feel such a strong sense of relief, she found herself too far gone to feel even the least bit disgusted by the feeling. It was a powerful testament to how disturbed her ex-husband's oh-so-favourite Uncle made her, that she'd prefer DJ's presence over his. Jordan knew what this was all about, though. She really did.

It was easy to see—at least, it was for her—that Argyle wanted control over the situation; he wanted _them_ to owe _him_ for his supposed kindness, instead of the other way around. Everything he had done for them up until now had been as a personal favour to Perry, something he owed him for everything that had happened in his childhood. But now Argyle wanted the tides to turn, and he wanted them to do so in their most vulnerable moment.

_Yeah,_ she thought, eyeing him carefully as she made her way towards JD. _Not happening, Gramps._

JD entered through the bulkhead door, keeping it swinging wide open behind him as he stepped through the threshold. "What's going on?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing upon seeing the obvious irritation on her face. He peeked beyond her shoulder, and saw the black tuff of curly hair that was the team leader, hunched over the desk, pen moving rapidly across the paper. _Writing his bank details, no doubt, _Jordan thought glumly. _They're getting way more than they deserve, charging in on us like that. _Again, she felt the familiar taste of guilt and shame on her tongue, and the back of her head throbbed as a painful reminder of what had occurred.

To JD, Jordan projected no outward indication of the turmoil she was feeling inside. Still, he had a look of curious contemplation on his face.

Jordan answered his question. "Put simply: negotiations between the group that attacked us and our resident psychomaniac."

"Psychomaniac?" JD echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's anything but simple."

Jordan shook her head in response. "Nevermind."

She led him over to where the two men were, the team leader now standing upright and watching them as they approached. When they were in speaking range of the two, she asked: "Is it done?"

"Not quite," the team leader replied quickly, his eyes set on JD's. "I don't believe we've met."

JD sent a look to Jordan, the silent question hanging in the air between them. She tilted her head slightly, giving him the smallest nod, and he stuck his hand out towards the man.

"I'm JD."

"Sebastian Stark."

Jordan's eyebrows furrowed momentarily in confusion, an expression of which soon became honed into a glare. The team leader simply smirked in response. "You asked a soldier what his name was. You didn't ask me." Jordan hated when anybody—bar her reflection in the mirror—smirked at her. She was sufficiently more peeved than she was a minute ago. _Perfect._

Argyle cleared his throat, looking as unamused as Jordan felt. He didn't like being interrupted or ignored, but neither did she—knowing that didn't stop him from suggesting at every turn that things should be done his way. Jordan had absolutely no sympathy for him. In her opinion, anything that discomforted Argyle became her personal mission to master. "_Now_ is the issue settled?" He asked Stark, who had just dropped his hand from shaking JD's. The hardness in the man's eyes returned and while this was no surprise to Jordan, JD looked slightly put off by the change in demeanour that occurred when Argyle addressed Stark. His hazel eyes became as cold and hard as ice, and his disarming smile faded into a flat frown. _He's not good at his job, _Jordan mused as the friendliness bled out of the man's face, _he's _brilliant_._

Stark nodded curtly, once. This seemed to be enough for Argyle, whose vaguely annoyed expression—to Jordan's dismay—was replaced by the faintest hint of a smile. "Good."

JD appeared to gather himself long enough to ask her where Ben was. Jordan motioned to the bulkhead door he had just entered from. "He's in one of the side rooms—I'm not sure which one. It shouldn't take you long to find him." JD nodded and left, still looking slightly perturbed by what he had witnessed. It was something he'd have to get used to, Jordan knew, if he ever wanted to survive this. Still, his innocence was something she envied. She lost hers a long time ago.

Jordan was bought back to reality when Stark asked: "Who was that?" His eyes were affixed to the bulkhead door with barely veiled curiosity in his voice. "He hardly seems the type to be thrown into something like this."

Jordan smiled slightly to herself. A very risky move, she thought, revealing his hand. She could have fun with this. "You mean that guy?" Stark nodded, a little too eagerly. Jordan shrugged, appearing nonchalant. "Hm. DJ's nothing special. He's just our only hope of getting out of this alive, that's all."

The almost comical look of shock that crossed his face was well worth the suffering she'd have to put up with from then on. Or, at least, that's what she'd thought, until Argyle turned to face her. "Now, Miss Sullivan," he began, the infuriating smirk clear and present on his face, "let's talk about the matter of your relocation."

Jordan sighed, sending a long-suffering glance to Stark; despite the fact that she knew he couldn't care less. Her glare of contempt successfully levelled up to a glare of death.

This was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

JD swung the bulkhead door closed behind him and leaned against the cool metal of its surface, breathing in a sigh. Despite the fact that he'd only been up for a few hours at most, he felt completely drained, and what he'd witnessed the end of back there had just beaten out of him whatever small amount of willpower he had left. The level of tension he'd felt when he stepped into the main hangar was akin to one you'd expect on a battlefield, just before the final charge, or in the middle of a crowded courtroom when you were the one standing on trial.

What made matters worse was the fact that he wasn't even thinking about Jordan—who was the one stuck in there watching from the sidelines, after all, and had been since the negotiations started—but himself. The very idea that he'd someday have to fill the enormous shoes left behind by his future counterpart, dystopian world or not, was enough to make him shudder, and not from the cold. To have to live up to so many people's expectations would be the death of him, JD decided, because he truly didn't understand how Doctor Cox—_Perry,_ he reminded himself with a tired smile—would ever look up to him. He was the baby in this situation, the Newbie_,_ and yet when the world goes to hell _he's_ the one who's destined to repair it?

_There must have been some major cosmic mistake, _he thought_, because I have _no idea_ what I'm supposed to do now._

"After all," he whispered softly to the empty hallway, "How do you repair a broken world _before_ the break's been made?"

He was no closer to finding the answer to that question than he was an hour—or even five minutes—ago.

Another sigh befell his lips, but in spite of the odds that were stacked against him, JD felt determined to put this behind him and get on with the rest of his day. When Perry came back from Sacred Heart, he'd be able to ask him what to do, just like old times. Until then, he fixated his attention on a much more achievable mission: Finding Ben.

After no less than fifteen minutes of looking for him, JD realised that said much-more-achievable-mission was easier said than done. The warehouse was _huge_, and included not only the two main hangars (as JD previously had thought) but a smaller, tertiary hangar that shared half its space with what appeared to be an office block. The surprises didn't end there—running parallel to the corrugated iron plating of the walls, ten feet above him, stood a metal catwalk that connected the higher level of office blocks to the third hangar that shared its space. It was on this catwalk that JD now traversed, moving towards the office block at the far end. He highly doubted that Ben would be in there, considering the amount of noise JD had made getting up on the catwalk in the first place, but the room's blinds had been drawn and the door was tightly shut.

And JD, of course, was curious.

He rested a hand on the knob, and was pleasantly surprised when it turned easily in his grasp. The room was bathed in shadow, but the daylight of the hangar behind him made sure he wasn't in complete darkness as he scrambled for the light switch. He found it and, after a brief moment of stillness, the fluorescent rods above him shuddered to life. It took a few seconds after that for JD to realise what it was exactly he was looking at, but the anticipation of finding out what it was for overrode any initial shock he felt towards its presence.

Whoever had installed it there had spent a lot of time preparing the room for its presence—the room he was standing in was, in fact, two rooms. It was easy to see where the dividing wall between them had once stood, now completely removed and nowhere to be found. The shelves, tables and chairs that he imagined had once populated the rooms had been cleared out as well, to make as much room as possible for the object standing stationary in the middle. JD considered the box-like structure for a moment, still unmoved from his place beside the door. Opaque blue plastic tarp covered the metal frame of the structure, which he could just see peeking out of the top. The tarp was set up like a curtain, and JD imagined that if he wanted to, he could open up what was inside to the rest of the room. Not knowing what it was exactly that was in there, though, he decided not to take any chances with it.

Crossing the small space between the door and the curtained box, JD pulled aside an edge of the tarp, creating a small space just wide enough for him to duck through. The tarp fluttered back into place behind him, but he hardly noticed it when he set his eyes on what it had shielded from view.

It was, quite simply, a table and chair. Set upon the table was a computer tower, though the monitor was nowhere to be found. Suspended from a metal rod that ran from one side of the boxed-off room to the other was a paper-thin white sheet. JD had no idea what it was for, and didn't risk his own safety by touching it. Until he discovered who it was that had left this here—though he was beginning to develop a solid theory, pointing to the previous inhabitants of this place—he was determined to leave everything how it was. It didn't seem he'd have much luck, however, since there wasn't even the smallest scrap of paper in the room that could possibly help him. Had JD not been so focused on finding the information he needed, he would have heard the barely audible, soft whirring that emanated from the computer in the room.

As it was, it was only when JD turned to leave the room that a much louder sound caught his attention.

"John Dorian."

JD froze, immediately recognising the voice on the screen. It was a voice that made his blood run cold—a voice that he'd only heard once before the owner left this world forever, but one that had stayed with him in his dreams much more frequently. He turned slowly, almost dreading what it was that he would see once he made the full rotation. It didn't let him down.

The white sheet he had wondered at earlier had now transformed into an image of a man. Much like the voice, JD had only ever met this man once, despite the fact that when he had, the man had claimed otherwise. In the picture presented before him, Daniel Knott looked as sickly as he did in the hospital—face gaunt and white, with eyes slightly sunken into his head, the lids and surrounding tissue marked a deep purple from lack of rest, ill health and malnutrition. When the eyelids fluttered closed then open again, JD realised that the image wasn't an image at all, but a video recording, which led him to question what it was that Daniel Knott wanted him to hear or see if anything. Before JD could even comprehend what was going on, the image of Daniel Knott began to speak, starting with another weak exclamation of his name.

"John Dorian."

"If you're watching this—which I know only you can—it means many things. It means that I am dead; that my brother is dead; that our mutual friend 'The Stranger' has uncovered the location to this base. When you run to tell him what you have seen here, tell him that the Storm has come, and that the Harbinger has spoken. Until then—"

Knott's voice dissolved into a fit of haggard coughs. For a brief moment JD panicked, his doctoring instincts propelling him off his chair, until the realisation that Knott was already dead set into his mind, alongside the fact that it was because of him he contracted the Juvenile virus and that he, in turn, didn't deserved any sympathy from him. However, something in the back of his head told him that this recording wasn't simply put there to toy with him. It was important, and could possibly be the turning point he was waiting for. Knott continued to speak as JD considered this. Forcing down the myriad of emotions that filled his gut, he strained his ears to listen to Knott's words.

"Until then, I believe an explanation is in order. I don't have much time to tell you everything you need to know, but I will tell you this—I have, and always will be, on your side." JD scoffed slightly, because despite whatever gut instinct told him that things were going to be different, he still didn't trust Knott as far as he could throw him. Which, considering the fact that he was dead weight on a slab in Sacred Heart's morgue, wasn't very far. Knott sighed then, almost as if he had heard his disbelief, and said: "It is hard to believe, I know, especially since you've undoubtedly deducted that I am the one who gave you the Juvenile virus. But you should also know by now that it is not contagious. The virus I have passed on to you will disease _you_ only, but its ultimate purpose isn't to bring you harm, but good. How else will you uncover the cure that will save millions of lives if you do not have an active sample of the virus?

"It is crude logic, but logic nonetheless."

Knott paused, looking almost thoughtful through the haze of sickness that contorted his features. "One can't even truly begin to understand the complexity of the virus until they themselves are carrying it. I have learnt this, and now, so will you. It is unfortunate that it had to be this way, John, but it is imperative in more ways than one that _you_ are the person who discovers the cure, and with little to no outside help. While I cannot disclose information about the virus's cure—lest I go against what I have just told you—I _can_ tell you something about the group that made it."

It took a moment for the implications behind Knott's words to sink in. _Is he talking about the Collective? _JD thought in awe. The_ Collective? As in, the freaky virus-producing, mass-murdering enigma that nobody will talk to me about, whose every move is shrouded in mystery? _Just as JD began to feel the rush of exhilaration that accompanied the idea that soon he would know who they were and what they were doing here—and why, of all people, they were looking to kill _him _in particular—a small voice in the back of his head asked him if he really _wanted_ to know about them. It took JD a moment to find the answer. No, he didn't want to know about them, but he knew that he needed to know. If he was ever going to figure this whole thing out, he needed to know who they were and what their endgame was, and since nobody he had asked was willing to give him those answers... _Well..._

JD straightened in his seat, eyes glued to the screen. In the video, Daniel Knott continued to speak.

"They are known simply as the Collective," Knott began. While he tried his best to remain serious, JD couldn't help but jump up and down a little in his seat when Knott verified his assumption. "In truth, the Collective are anything but simple. The group is made up of executive representatives—the heads of some of the wealthiest companies across the world. That is the only prerequisite for joining: you must be worth millions to even be considered by them. Realistically, they are not united by their price, though that is indeed an important factor, but by their desperation. You see, John, these companies are being threatened by the one thing that most American's hold dear. Peace."

He paused, as if for dramatic effect, but JD could see the strain in his face as he struggled to keep himself upright. _It must have been painful, _he thought, and briefly wondered whether or not it would be this hard for him to remain his own composure when the virus fell into its later stages. _Hopefully, I won't ever have to find out._ "After all," Knott continued, his voice hoarse, "In peacetime, is there such a high demand for the materials of war? We manufacture hundreds of thousands of such materials for the defence forces during peace, true, but in war we demand millions. These materials range from artillery, to missiles, to aircrafts, and even to the most basic ores used to create them. The Collective stands to lose everything_,_ including their wealth, but, most importantly; they stand to lose their power.

"As a new age dawns on American and the world, one of awareness and hospitality, their influence begins to slip. And so they create Juvenile, using their amassed wealth and extensive connections to manufacture the first man-made virus using what doctors and scientists alike refer to as nanotechnology. As you will soon discover, it is no coincidence that the Juvenile virus presents the exact same symptoms in each host, as well as its expansion from children to the general population. The Collective decided that it was the easiest way to achieve their objective—mass panic, followed by fear, denial and blind rage. Do you know what the government's response to mass panic is, John? They either stand or they fall. In the not-so-distant future, it is the latter that will come about. After the government fails to control its people, it does the only thing in its power. It declares martial law. Eventually, when suspicions of terrorism are at their highest, it will lead to war—

"And the Collective stands to make millions."

Even though JD knew that the message was pre-recorded, he could have sworn that Daniel Knott locked eyes with him through the screen as he spoke. "My brother and I were the second group to be sent back into the past. Who the first was, I do not know, but the events they put into motion ensured that the Juvenile virus would manifest in the first carrier before anybody even knew of their existence. What they did not count on were the rebels, and the three of them they had within their own ranks. I am but one spy. The person who gives me my orders—my boss, for all intents and purposes—is another, known only as the Harbinger. He instructed me to speak to you." Knott took a deep breath, flinching slightly as he did so. Then, when the suspense was just about to swallow JD whole, Knott spoke.

"The third spy is Jordan Sullivan."

JD narrowed his eyes at the screen. _What?_

Knott seemed to realise, even before JD had even seen the video, that this knowledge would provoke some sort of shock reaction from him. He rushed to explain.

"She has undoubtedly confessed to you that she cannot read her own future past the events that occur within the next few years. The truth to the matter is that her memories were taken from her, willingly, by you, the rebellion. She was placed within the confines of the Collective as a spy, but her personality was altered as a result. Jordan cannot recognise her own mind here in the present, for she cannot see a stranger if she doesn't know that's who she is looking for. I'd advise you not to tell her this, either. It is a dangerous thing, knowing the future, and an even riskier one knowing your own. It is a privilege that should not be extended to anybody, not even her."

Knott's eyebrows furrowed inwards suddenly, and his head turned from side to side. JD sat up straighter in his seat, unsure of what was happening. Suddenly, a loud bang sounded over the tape, startling both JD in the present and Knott during when the video was being filmed. A voice boomed across the warehouse, gradually growing louder.

"DANIEL!"

Knott turned back to face JD, desperation written across his features. "I do not have any more time. My brother, unlike me, is a true agent of the Collective. It was only a matter of time before I was discovered. I cannot answer any of the questions you have to ask, but I urge you to seek out the answers to those that plague your mind. As a final parting gift, I will tell you this: figuring out the answer to the most important question—what the Collective is doing in the past—lies within the virus itself. There are two existing strains, the one you and the first carrier share, and the one that your beloved Stranger has contracted. There were only three people who knew of its existence outside of the Collective—me, as the spy, Perry Cox as the Stranger, and your own future counterpart. I guess now there are only two. However, there are also three people in your time now that have the virus. As confusing as this sounds, study its meaning, replay this tape and find the answers you seek.

"This is all I can tell you, John. Goodbye... and good luck."

The screen faded into darkness, casting shadows across the room. JD simply stared at it, his mouth agape. Barely a half a second later, he closed it again, feeling his body freeze in abject horror as the meaning of Daniel Knott's words became apparent to him.

Perry had the virus. Perry had the virus and he_ knew about it._

For the first time since they'd met, JD truly felt that he could understand part of what his unrelenting mentor was going through.

He only wished it didn't have to be over something so sad.

* * *

When Doctor Perry Cox was startled awake, a mere half an hour later, he raised a shaking hand to his face. His fingertips pressed against the smooth skin just below his cheekbone. It was unblemished, bar the lines of age, and the relief rose to his throat so quickly he almost choked on it. Knowing all too well—or, perhaps, not well enough—that it was simply his paranoia in play, but unable to help himself nonetheless, he ran to find the nearest mirror.

Just to make sure.

_Fast, I fade away,  
__It's almost over, hold on.  
__Slow, I suffocate,  
__I'm cold and broken, alone._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE III: **This was a hard chapter to write for many reasons. Surprisingly, writing present Perry Cox into the story was the least of my problems. I'm constantly writing and re-writing the past, present and future of this story, editing what happens to fit with whatever tantalising sub-plot I'm working at the time. I think that's why this took so long to finish, because this chapter has revealed the most about the Collective than any other. Hopefully these answers are both satisfying and curious, because you know I can't write a chapter of this story without making you wonder what's next. What are _you _wondering?

Until next time,

--_Exangeline._


	17. The Plan

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, not even the plot, which is more a combination of my favourite devices. Lyrics in this arc belong to Breaking Benjamin, and are all from their new Dear Agony album, which I honestly can't stop listening to.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **To all my darling readers, thank you for sticking by me and being unwaveringly patient with my erratic posts. For everyone who has reviewed, alerted or favourite this story: you're the reason I keep writing. Honestly. All of your feedback is taken under the most utmost consideration as I begin to write the next few chapters. So, to anybody who has any constructive criticism, comments or ideas for improvement, I'm always open to it. You can flame me if you like, but it'll probably just make me cry. I'm weak like that. To those that have been waiting ever-so-patiently for this chapter, enjoy.

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **The scenes have been switched around so the chapter now ends with Perry's scene, not JD's. I think it improves readability this way, and gives the chapter a better feel. If you read it the other way, though, it's just as good. It's just my personal preference to have it this way.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Without You_ by Breaking Benjamin_._

* * *

**CHAPTER XIII: THE PLAN (PART I)**

_Search for the answers I knew all along—  
I lost myself; we all fall down,  
Never the wiser of what I've become.  
Alone, I stand a broken man._

It took only seconds for somebody in his presence to realise that JD was a very dramatic person.

It was evident in everything he did, everything he _was_—a dreamer with a penchant for childish pranks, yet at the same time a man deeply affected by his past, who kept grudges longer than he did lovers. What most people didn't know, however, was that this persona, this almost _dual personality,_ had not been created through a starving need for attention as most thought, but through an equally ravenous need to see how other people reacted to different and abnormal situations. Throughout a school life of undermining and bullying, he gleaned the only thing he could from his differences, and while it had long since stopped being a way of protecting himself against the harsh cruelties of childhood, he found himself unable to stop it. Gauging the reactions of his friends when he did something unanticipated, unprecedented or out of line was like an addiction, one he'd always strive to remove himself from, but one that would stay with him long past the time it grew tiresome.

This, however, was an unexpected development.

JD had since realised that recent events had tested his need to study, to take in and analyse. This was partially because the day's events gave him no time to even breathe properly, but it was mostly attributed to the fact that he was no longer the silent observer looking in on the situation from the outside—he was now the person who, in any other circumstance, he would be watching. The deathly silence that would flood a room upon receiving such a devastating shock, the deathly silence that JD analysed over and over again in his mind, was the one filling the room around him from where he stood.

And try as he might, he couldn't keep an objective frame of mind.

It was almost as if the flimsy curtains that surrounded the box in which he stood and the walls of the room around them began to tilt violently. They flew away, leaving him standing in a black space with no shape, form or direction. His body, numbed by the shock, began to shake as his stomach bottomed out and the creeping cold dread that preceded the real shock replaced it. He cared, a hell of a lot more than he'd like to admit, about the future counterpart of Perry Cox. Perhaps it was because this one was more willing to have him, because while a first impression would have you believe that he was even more unwaveringly closed due to what he had experienced, JD realised that he was a lot more vulnerable as well. He had things to care about and he had things to lose, and until he could sever all ties with those things, those people, he could always be in some way harmed. And more than that, JD registered, was that _he_ was one of the things Perry cared about. _Him._ JD, Carol, _Newbie_.

_It works out well,_ he thought in a dizzying rush of sentimentality._ Because I care about him too._

The thought cleared the haze from his mind, and while he faced the fact that he was surely in denial still, he began to feel the first stirrings of emotion. His instinct was to lash out, to break into hysterics, tears, a fit of rage, even. But he knew it wouldn't achieve anything. He could confront Perry, shove it down his throat, break in front of him, demand why he was so determined to leave him—but all it would do was make them both feel bad. _Okay,_ JD thought, breathing deeply. _Calm down, J-Dizzle. _(He laughed, almost hysterically, in his head upon thinking of the nickname—one of the many he had attempted to get Doctor Cox to call him by, but to no avail.) _Think about this for a moment, approach it like you would a case study. _

_First, what do we know?_

He knew what Daniel Knott had told him. While it had entered into his mind that Knott could, for all intents and purposes, be lying through his teeth, something about the desperation and utter _illness_ in the other man's voice cleared the thought from his head. No, nobody would risk that much just to play some mind game, and Knott had nothing to lose. He had already been infected by the virus when he'd created the video, and if he really was their enemy, it was in his best interest to stay silent and allow the virus to creep up on them all. Instead, he'd spoken out, created a video behind his brother's back that could threaten the Collective's master plan. JD shivered as he remembered the finer details of the real enemy they were up against—they'd already proven they were bloodthirsty, cold and heartless.

In an unbiased, third-party kind of way, he could almost understand how they would decide to infect him and Perry with the virus, especially if they really were so high in the rebel's hierarchy. But to infect a child, not to mention multiple children? For _money_, no less? That was true evil. _And to do it to Perry's daughter, to throw that in his face at the moment he can do nothing about it?_

That, he would never forgive.

Regaining his focus, JD forced himself back to the matter at hand. If he'd saved Perry's daughter within a rebel safe-house with limited medical supplies in a dystopian future, he sure as hell could save Perry—and himself—with the resources at his disposal in the present. With that thought, JD retook his seat at the table, allowing himself to drift back to some of the last things Knott had said to him.

"'_There are two existing strains,_'" he repeated to the brightly lit space before him. "_'The one you and the first carrier share and the one that the Stranger—_Perry—_has contracted._' Who's the first carrier, and how did they come to get the same virus as I did?_" _As he thought on this, another sentence in Knott's explanation floated back to him, just before he'd explained his place in the Collective as a spy.

He couldn't remember the exact tone or inflection, but he clearly heard Knott say that he and his brother were the _second_ group to be sent back into the past and, while he didn't know who the first was, he did know that they had something to do with the Juvenile virus manifesting in the first carrier. If only Knott had disclosed who that person was, so he could meet them and ask how they'd managed to stop the virus from taking their life already. Perhaps they'd have the answers he was seeking; perhaps they'd have no idea what he was talking about. But he was a doctor, a job that came with a certain amount of subtlety. If he could get a sample from them, either by telling them the truth or by other means, then maybe he'd be able to find the cure to the virus. _But if Perry's strain is different..._

JD shook his head. He had to do this one step at a time. If he could cure the strain that he had first, then he'd at least have something to build from when finding the cure for Perry's.

"So," he said out loud, purposely, the sound of his own voice speaking the words a good distraction from the jumble of thoughts swirling around in his head. "If I can find the carrier, I can at least find out why the virus hasn't affected them yet. They can't be dead already, because Knott specifically said that there were three people, in the present, who have the virus." _Namely, me, Perry and the first carrier..._

_...Whoever _that_ is._

He sighed, holding his head in his hands. How could he possibly find the first carrier, with no other clue but the fact that they have—or have had—the Juvenile virus?

Then something occurred to him.

_I need to talk to Jack._

* * *

After cleaning up every file on her desk three times, sorting them by patient name and admission date, organising her pens into a perfect straight line on the desk and throwing away half the paper in her drawers, Carla Espinosa admitted to herself that she was feeling just a little bit anxious. Most of this anxiety could be attributed to the fact that she was sure she was seeing things—because, really, that was all it could be.

Perhaps it was the long hours getting to her, the fact that she hadn't seen her husband all day, or lack of hydration, even, because any of those explanations were better than actually having her believe what it was her eyes had told her only moments ago. _He's good,_ she thought, _but not _that_ good._

In a flash of white and auburn, Carla had watched as Perry Cox had ascended the steps to the roof level, giving her a stern nod as he passed. This was a normal affair, since Carla was well aware that even in his darkest moods, Perry would at least be civil to her, as one of the only people he supposedly liked at the hospital. What wasn't in the norm was how, only moments later, coming from the completely opposite direction, she'd seen _another_ flash of white and auburn as Perry threw open the on-call room door and stepped within the threshold, threatening immediate death to anybody who wished to interrupt him before he slammed the door shut behind him. She knew one of the two images had to have been a farce, because one person couldn't be in two places at once, not even the _'fantastic'_ Doctor Perry Cox. Having had the evidence presented in front of her very eyes that Perry had indeed locked himself in the on-call room, plus the quivering interns and utter silence that had spread throughout the nurses' station, Carla assumed that if she ascended the stairs to the roof and gave it a quick once-over, she'd find it devoid of any auburn-haired, ego-maniac doctors.

But to even consider it...

She sighed. She didn't like indulging in something she clearly thought was a waste of time, but if it made the anxiety that echoed in her every move disappear, then she really had no choice. Keeping this thought in mind, she nodded to Laverne and left her post to climb the stairs to the roof entrance, feeling light-headedness in every step that directly contrasted the heaviness of her thoughts as they cycled through her head. In record time, she was faced with the door, and peered through the small fibreglass window at the top. Nobody was there.

So why was she turning the knob and swinging open the door?

Carla didn't know the answer. She didn't much care to. Instead, she stepped out into the open air of the hospital's rooftop, peering from side-to-side, missing nothing. At the same time, she didn't see anybody either, which meant that either she really was overtired, missing Turk, dehydrated, or the other number of excuses she'd come up with or perhaps just growing slowly and surely crazier by the minute.

There was a flash of black from the corner of her eye. Carla turned instinctively towards it.

What she saw made her mouth drop open.

"I won't try to hide from you," Perry Cox said with a slight smirk as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his long, black coat. "I know you'll only find me anyway."

* * *

"So, it's possible, right?" JD asked from his place against the sphere. Jack was at the computer terminal, typing rapidly into a command prompt. JD had filled him in on the bare bones of the situation—his theory about finding the first carrier, the fact that the Collective had somehow managed to travel back in time once before, and how he thought the two were connected. When Jack asked where he got the information from, JD told him about the boxed-in room. He felt pretty secure in the fact that the video Knott left was for his eyes only, and while he felt bad about deceiving Jack in such a way, he knew that the teen wasn't ready to hear the information the video contained. It seemed like Perry was trying to protect Jack as much as possible, and JD would honour that, at least until they had a chance to talk.

Jack glanced up from his work to answer JD's question. "In theory."

"Uh-oh," JD replied, "_'in theory_' doesn't sound that great."

That earned him a quick smile from Jack, who was no-nonsense the moment he started typing. "It was pretty easy to configure the sphere to scan for the Juvenile virus in the warehouse, but if we want to see results, we're going to have to widen the search parameters to cover the city, maybe even the whole district. It's going to be difficult to rewire the sphere to do that, but even if we manage it, it's going to be impossible from in this warehouse. We're on the edge of the city as is," he added with a slight tug of his lips, "and I'm good, JD, but I'm not _that _good."

JD laughed, but it was short-lived. They still had work to do, after all. "Where would be a good place, then?"

Jack considered his words and as he did so, JD's eyes were drawn to the look of concentration on the boy's face as his hands paused above the keyboard, the wheels of his mind turning. Jack looked remarkably like his father when he concentrated, JD realised—his eyebrows furrowed, his face stilled and his eyes never left its target. When Jack saw him looking, however, he smiled widely, and the moment slipped away.

He swivelled around on his chair to face JD as the answer came to him. "Something in the middle of the city, I suppose. If we want any shot at this at all, really, then we've got to be in the middle." Jack looked quizzically up at him. "What's in the middle of the city at the moment? In the future, it's basically Collective base-camp."

"That's easy," JD replied, not having to think about the answer at all. "Sacred Heart."

To his utter surprise, Jack smiled. "Perfect."

"I don't understand," JD said after a moment of consideration, only to realise that he still didn't get it anymore than he did in the first instance. "Sacred Heart is virtually packed with people coming and going, how is that a good place to use the sphere to scan the whole city?" Even as he was saying it, it still didn't make sense. Sacred Heart was the _last_ place to do anything of the sort. Who knew what type of effect the burst of energy that the sphere created would have on the patients or their equipment? Part of his mind briefly registered that the sphere had had no effect on the computer terminals, but they were a whole new type of technology. Heart monitors, MRI machines and the other hospital equipment were not.

In the middle of his musings, JD almost missed the huge grin that crossed over Jack's face as the light-headed teen shook with laughter. "Oh, JD," he said, shaking his head. "We're not actually going to move the sphere onto the roof of Sacred Heart. It's too big and conspicuous, not to mention heavy. Dad told me that all of the doctors used to go out for smoke breaks on the roof, which is disgusting, by the by. What if one of them saw the sphere, or ran into it, even? No, it's too much of a risk. We'll just take Ben."

JD nodded.

Then did a double-take.

"What—_Ben_? Why?" JD spluttered. "I thought you said you needed the sphere to be in the middle of the city."

Jack shook his head. "No, I said that if we want any shot at this at all, the _energy burst_ needs to be in the middle of the city. It's pretty simple—I'll just install the software onto the server the sphere shares with Ben. We'll be able to do the remote wipe after reconfiguring his priority level. Ben's certainly capable of it, as long as we give him the ability to. The only hard part will be sending back the results to the sphere. Ben will need to take a lot of downtime in order to send the information, and I'm afraid that the scale of the scan will make that quite difficult. We'll need to organise an inconspicuous mode of transport to bring him back to the warehouse, or wherever it is we'll be by the time we set this all up, and hardwire him in to the mainframe. Mom won't like it, because she doesn't trust Ben, but I think Dad will go with the plan."

JD nodded along. "I honestly have no idea what you just said."

Jack smiled.

"What I mean," he said, "Is that we might actually have a shot at this after all, as long as you can use your connections."

"Connections?"

Jack nodded, looking more amused by the minute. "Looks like you'll be going back to Sacred Heart, Doctor."

JD smiled in return, resting the palms of his hands on the edge of the table and leaning down to Jack's level.

"Yeah, well, it looks like you're coming with me."

The look on Jack's face was worth the future discomfort of trying to figure out how to do it.

* * *

Carla closed her mouth, did a quick double-take, and frowned.

"I don't understand," she said, after a long pause. And how was she supposed to, anyway? Somehow, in some way, Perry Cox was standing in front of her, tangible evidence within her reach, when Carla knew—as easily as she knew her native tongue, or how much substitute sugar to put in Turk's morning coffee each morning—that Perry Cox was _also_ downstairs, sleeping off the stresses of the job as they all tried to do. And this, this_ alternate self_ of his she was now faced with looked almost nothing like him at all. If it were anybody else who had cornered him out here, it probably wouldn't have registered with them that it was him at all. But Carla knew better. She knew Perry Cox. You didn't know a person for ten years, only to not recognise them when they looked a little different.

The harder she looked, actually, the more familiarity she could find in the small things, like his build, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the thin downward set of his mouth or the tuff of untameable auburn hair on the top of his head. The best way she could identify him was through his eyes—crazy, as she liked to call them—but they were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, almost completely opaque. She couldn't see through them, but she didn't need to. This was him. This was her questionably sane, egotistical friend. Still...

Her readiness to accept that fact only made the situation more unnerving.

The opaque glasses did nothing to hide the fact that he was currently eyeballing her, and his stare derailed her train of thought.

"Naturally," he said, in response to her statement. It took her a moment before she realised she was being insulted, but when she did, Carla scowled. Even when she knew herself that she clearly didn't understand what was going on; she still didn't like it to be rubbed in her face. She shut her eyes for an evanescent second, breathed in sharply, and was rewarded with the fleeting look of realisation that crossed his face.

"I may not understand how or even why you're here, but I understand _you,_ Percival Ulysses Cox, so don't you _dare_ insult my intelligence like that again."

When her anger simmered, she gauged his reaction. After the brief second of rage from his face abated, Perry's lips turned upwards into a smirk. "So what do you suggest I do then, if insulting your intelligence is off limits?"

Carla straightened, secretly surprised. She hadn't expected him to back down that easily. Regaining herself, she said, in her best no-nonsense tone: "You can start by telling me what this is all about." She figured it was only fair. She'd found him, and now she wanted answers. In response, she expected anything but, so it was even more surprising when instead of looking guarded, he looked uneasy.

"You really want to know?" He asked, tugging at the sleeves of his coat so to cover his wrists.

_That's new too,_ she thought. She'd always said she'd love to see him express more vulnerability, but now that he was, it put her on edge. Perry Cox wasn't supposed to look anxious. It wasn't right.

Instead of conveying her fears to him, Carla adopted a protective state of mind. To combat his look of anxiety, she smiled. "Hit me."

_All I have is one last chance,  
__I won't turn my back on you.  
__Take my hand, drag me down,  
__If you fall then I will too._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, so I decided to make it into a Part I – Part II deal like I did in the first arc. Part II should be up sooner than my normal updates, since it's pretty much to the flow of this chapter. Until it's released, I'd love to hear what you think about the first part so far.

See you soon, ;)

-- _Exangeline._


	18. The Blueprint

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, not even the plot, which is more a combination of my favourite devices. Lyrics in this arc belong to Breaking Benjamin, and are all from their new Dear Agony album, which I honestly can't stop listening to.

Also, special thanks go to **Bells of Tomorrow** for proofreading the final scene of this chapter for me.

**WARNING: **Perry uses some language in this chapter.

Lyrics adapted from the song _I Will Not Bow_ by Breaking Benjamin_._

* * *

**CHAPTER XIV: THE BLUEPRINT (PART II)**

_Watch the end through dying eyes—  
__Now the dark is taking over  
__Show me where forever dies,  
__Take the fall and run to heaven.  
__All is lost again, but I'm not giving in._

The war had taken its toll on Doctor Perry Cox.

That was the first, if only, observation Carla made upon hearing his story. Majority of the rest of her thoughts were still somewhere in the middle of that stunned silence and confusion as she sat there, on the roof of the hospital she called home, with the future counterpart of a man who was only a few levels below her, saving lives and hassling interns. There were no tears; there were no emotions, even—just a sweeping, senseless shock that numbed her to her very core. It wasn't often she didn't have something, _anything_, to say to somebody—especially when that person was a man who kept his emotions so tightly shut, even he didn't know he was feeling them. She always had something to say, always, and she knew that people counted on that. She knew that the man in front of her right now was counting on that.

Slowly, _achingly,_ the haze of silence that overwhelmed her thoughts lifted, just enough for her to see through. The first thing that came to her then, as she was staring at a man who was so past broken, he could mend the fixed, was that she was touched, and deeply too. It was a strange feeling, because for all intents and purposes the first thing she should have been feeling was pity; strong, unwavering sympathy for a survivor of what she could only think was attempted genocide. But she knew, above and beyond all else, that he wouldn't want her pity; he wouldn't take it and he sure as hell wouldn't appreciate it, so Carla wouldn't give it to him. She was right before. She _knew_ him, she knew Perry Cox—even this shattered, impartial version of him. She knew when he needed her, and he needed her now.

So there was no sympathy, there was only honour and privilege, and it wasn't often that Carla felt privileged to be confided in. In fact, it was a prerequisite to being her friend. She was the advice-giver, sometimes when the last thing anybody wanted was her advice. Where JD had his fantasies, Turk had his competitive streak, Elliot had her neurosis and Doctor Cox had his ego, Carla had her advice. It was what made her who she was; it was what made her different from the rest.

She took a deep breath, composing herself, but her throat ran dry. No words bubbled out of her, no opinions burst forth into her mind. All she could do was silently observe that one, devastating fact. The war had taken its toll on Doctor Percival Cox, the strongest man she had ever known. And it was on that thought—in the heat of the moment—that at long last, she spoke.

When she did, she wished she hadn't, because it didn't sound like she felt touched, or privileged, or honoured or any of the other things she was planning to tell him.

It sounded like something entirely different.

"I'm scared," she said, the words spontaneous and unexpected. Perry just looked at her—silently, detached, and in spite of his lack of encouragement (or, perhaps, because of it) she continued to speak anyway, her words gaining in pitch and tempo as the full meaning behind them hit her square in the chest. In that same second, she realised something else.

"No, I'm not just scared, I'm _terrified_. What if, after everything you do, this all happens anyway?" She lifted her stunned gaze to meet his. "What if we lose everything that makes us _us—_the hospital, our community, our_ families_? I can't lose Turk. I can't lose JD, or Elliot, or you and Jordan. Even though you've said that we all survive, we all make it through this, everything's changed now. Your appearance here has thrown everything off balance. We'll never be those people, because nothing will play out the way it was supposed to. But what if it plays out worse? What if you _fail_?"

She looked at him, feeling every word she had spoken as if they had drilled into the marrow of her bones. She _was_ scared, she _was_ terrified, and she knew it was doing nothing to help him, but she couldn't stop herself if she tried. At her last question, Perry had stiffened. His entire body straightened, making him look almost twice as tall, and the detached look on his face became all too real.

"_I won't._"

He said the words so low, she almost didn't hear them. "What?"

He looked up at her, square in the eyes. Carla found herself staring at the anti-flash glasses that, if he had told her right, shielded his scarred eyes from view.

"I said _I won't._ I won't fail you, Carla. I'll go down fucking _fighting_ if I have to. I won't let them win, I _can't._ Because I swear to you, I'd rather die than let them affect you—or anybody else—like this."

Silence followed his words, but after a long moment, he took a deep, shuddering breath and continued. "I just... I don't know _how._"

Carla straightened. "How what?"

"I don't know how to save you—Jordan, Jack, Newbie, the _world._ It's not a metabolic disease I can just research the hell out of until it clicks. I have _no idea_ where to start."

Carla nodded, slowly, and felt an almost shattering sense of relief when she sensed the words coming to her, the ideas flooding her mind and the advice tingling on her lips. This was who she was; this was how she could help. She almost smiled, and if it were another time and place, perhaps she would have. "Here's what you do," she began, dipping her head to catch his eye as he stared at a crack in the concrete surface as if it was personally offending him by being there. He looked up after a moment, his features closed-off but alert. When she was satisfied she had his full attention, she continued.

"First, you go to JD and make sure he knows that you're there for him." Perry made a face. "I know you're going to hate it—"

"Understatement of the millennia."

"—But even though he visited you and you worked out what happened, did you ever tell him that? That you'd be there for him? If this virus is as terrible as you say, he's going to need the support. You're closer to him in the future, and I know it'd be easier than you care to admit to tell him how you feel."

"So, lay Newbie's worries to rest? How is this going to help me save his life—and everybody else's, for that matter, Carla? Didn't think that one through now, didja?"

Carla rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. _This_ was the personality she was more accustomed to dealing with. Perry Cox was nothing if not downright stubborn. Not even a war as harrowing as the one he'd been through could take that away from him. If only he'd direct that force into something more productive than fighting with the only person at the moment who was trying to help him.

It didn't seem that that was a personality trait the war had beat out of him, either.

"You underestimate the power you have over him," she told him. "He'd do anything for you, Perry. _Anything._"

He snorted. "That's naive."

"That's _loyalty._" Carla shot back, shaking her head at him. "And you know you'd do anything for him, as well. Now you have to tell _him_ that, and maybe—just maybe—you can help one another out."

The silence she received as a response was as close to an agreement that Carla would get.

But it was enough. For now.

* * *

Jack wasn't particularly happy about having to leave the confines of the warehouse, especially since he was exchanging its relative quietude with the hustle and bustle of a busy hospital in the middle of flu season. JD didn't even have to tell him about that—Jack found out about it on his own. All the answers were only a few clicks away and in this case, and all it took, in fact, was a simple hack into Sacred Heart's mainframe, correlating all the patient data into an export file, giving it upward compatibility in order to successfully integrate it onto the server and transferring the data into a new file where he could compare the names and diseases of the hospital's patients with those stored in the computer's records of flu deaths this particular year. Easy as. Too bad the results weren't as relieving as the process of finding them was (flu season it was, then) though he cheered himself back up by watching JD's expression go from shocked, to confused, back to shocked, then to downright gobsmacked.

Jack wasn't sure why that was, since it had taken him 99.34 seconds to do it all. His best time was 55.73, though he wasn't about to tell the doctor that, lest he'd have a heart attack right then and there.

"What, never seen a hacker perform a simple grab-and-go before?" he said instead, and with an amused smile.

JD shook his head, his mouth still open slightly. Jack's smile fell straight into smirk territory after that, as he proceeded to tell the dark-haired man exactly what it was he did, and lost him about three words in.

"You're too smart for your own good, Jack," was all JD said after he'd finished speaking. Jack nodded in agreement—he wasn't as ego-driven as his Dad was, but he wasn't exactly modest about his gifts either.

After a brief pause, JD smiled. "You're still coming with me, though."

Jack's face fell.

_Damn it all._

And so here he was, slowly reconciling with the fact that while he had definitely made his unhappiness known, he really had no choice in the matter. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him, though he still wasn't ecstatic about the whole thing. JD would be swamped with his duties as a resident, especially since he'd be returning to the hospital to actually _work_ for the first time since this whole fiasco had begun. Jack, meanwhile, would pretty much have free run of the place, as long as his Mom would be able to get him in. He knew she had considerable influence over the hospital's board of directors, but it was still a mystery to him how much that was. It wouldn't take very long on his end, especially if all he had to do was falsify his resume, ID and passport to reflect himself as being four years older than he actually was, but he wasn't about to do that if he had no chance to even use them. He only hoped his Mom would smooth this over with the Chief of Medicine, of whom his Dad constantly referred to as "the devil", even if he did die saving their collective asses in his future. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly thrilled to have to meet the man, if what he'd been told was the truth.

And hell, this was all assuming that his Mom would even _agree_ to their crazy plan in the first place. Jack still had his doubts about that one. Jordan was as unpredictable as she was smart, and she was the smartest woman he knew. While he should have been thrilled to consider the possibility that the plan wouldn't actually go forward, he had to consider the merits of the scan. If they could find the first carrier, then they may have a chance to change things for the better, once and for all. Even if the timeline splintered into an alternative reality to theirs (as it probably already had, just by them being there) and the Juvenile virus still had a hold of his world, then Jack would at least be able to return with the cure and help stop the virus before it got any worse.

He didn't dare think about the possibility that their voyage through time was a one-way trip.

Derailing the train of thought as swiftly as it arrived at his station, Jack turned back to the matter at hand.

"Okay, the plan sounds pretty good to me so far, but we've still got a re-_heally_ big roadblock in front of us." At JD's slightly confused look, Jack continued. "That is, of course, how we're going to get Ben out of the hospital without anybody noticing him. Admittedly, it's easier than trying to get the _sphere _out of the hospital, but Ben isn't exactly going to look inconspicuous. You've seen him when he's processing data; he loses the ability to do anything else, including keeping up appearances."

"I have an idea about that, actually," JD said slowly.

Jack smiled encouragingly. "Let's hear it."

"It might not even work," JD began uncertainly, "especially since it depends on the cooperation of Sacred Heart's 'Queen of Gossip'."

Jack interjected. "Let me guess—Carla Espinosa?"

JD's eyebrows furrowed in surprise. Jack rolled his eyes in the perfect imitation of his mother.

"I come from the future, JD, not another galaxy." He said. "Carla is pretty much the same where I come from as she is here."

Then he paused. "Or, at least, I assume so. Confident, no-nonsense, never-ending fountain of advice?"

The dark-haired doctor smiled weakly. "That sounds like her."

"I thought so," Jack said, meeting his smile with one of his own. "You'll probably find she's even more overbearingly motherly in my time, and not only because of her own children, either. She's always had a soft spot for me and Jen, not to mention Sa—" Jack caught himself just before the name completely passed his lips. "Well, all the other misbegotten children in the Safehouse."

In a stroke of luck, his moment's hesitation went unnoticed. JD seemed to be too caught up in the first part of his sentence, rather than the end. "Carla has _children_?_"_

Jack grinned. "Yep. Two girls, and another on the way."

JD's face came alive at that, and he beamed at Jack. "What are their names?"

"Maria and Isabella," Jack said immediately. While he had strict orders from his parents not to disclose any information about JD's future to him, they never said anything about the future of his friends. As long as JD didn't tell anybody, which he assumed he wouldn't do anyway, they were pretty safe from distorting that part of the timeline. 'Ria and Izzy would live, as they had survived in the future.

"And what are they naming the third?"

"They still don't know the gender yet, and they were still debating names when we left, but if it's a boy—"

JD interjected with a grin. "Turk's always wanted a boy."

Jack smiled at him. "If it's a boy, I think they'll name him after Carla's brother, Marco."

"Is he—?"

Jack knew what JD was going to ask before the words even left his lips. He shook his head. "No, he isn't dead, but we haven't heard from him in a while. When the virus hit, all the major states were pretty much separated from one another, not to mention the countries. It's incredibly difficult to send a message, let alone a person, across any of the state borders without getting arrested or, worse, shot on sight."

"_Shot on sight?_"

"We're rebels, JD. Our faces are all over the news. Well, yours and Dad's are, at least. It's not surprising, since you're both the most active leaders of any rebel base in America. If you don't believe me, I'll show you." Jack spun on his seat to face the computer terminal behind him. Clicking a random key on the keyboard, the black screen lit up to the front page of the Collective's encrypted database software. Jack had yet to crack the entire file, but he was getting there—they had the ability to search names and return results, but not to change the file or delve deeper into the mainframe. "I'm not supposed to show you anything about yourself from the future, but this will hardly change much. If anything, it'll keep you on your guard, which is what you really need to do. Here—"

He typed JD's name into the blank field and clicked ENTER. In less than a second, there were over fifty listings. The light-headed teen shrugged and turned to face JD. "I guess there are quite a few people named John Dorian. But only one of them is red-flagged as a terrorist. And that, my friend, is you." He flashed an amused smirk at JD before scrolling down the list until he found a name highlighted in red. He clicked the name, and a new window opened a moment later. On the left side of the window was the last image taken of JD before he went underground. While the man beside him—_the man in the photo_—had no idea where the image came from, Jack did. He knew if he typed in his father's name, an almost identical picture would come up. In the image, JD's hair was long and dishevelled, a slight haze of stubble lining his jaw. His blue eyes were narrowed in a calculating expression as he looked to something at the side of him. It would have seemed he had no idea the photographer was there, if it wasn't for the fact that he was pointing in their direction. The picture was badly cropped, and it was easy to see that there was another figure beside him—the same figure he was looking at. Next to the picture, on the right, JD's name was printed.

Under the name, written in large block letters, were four words: _WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE_.

JD repeated these words out into the empty air in front of him. Whether it was shock or dread in his voice, Jack couldn't tell.

"Dad doesn't have the last two words on the end of his. And if you're wondering about the picture, it was taken by a security camera in the corridor of a military outpost some hundred miles away from here. It was the last time you were seen in public before you went underground. The person you're looking at, the person that's supposed to be next to you, is Dad."

JD swallowed, audibly. Jack spun around in his chair. "Are you okay?"

The dark-haired doctor nodded, though hesitantly.

"Yeah," he said after a moment, sounding anything _but_ okay as he stared at the image on the screen. "Do you have the whole picture?

Jack turned back to the terminal and entered a few words into a command prompt he created in the middle of the screen. After a moment of searching the database for the original image, the uncropped picture came into view on the workstation's screen. JD bent forward to inspect it, and Jack leaned back to give him the space he needed.

While JD's eyes were averted from the camera in the photo, his Dad's most certainly were not. Perry Cox's vibrant eyes stared into the camera with a look of absolute hatred, his hair a wicked auburn flame flickering around and against the sides of his face. His arm was raised, much like JD's was on the other side of the photo, but in his hand he held a gun. His other hand rested on JD's shoulder, squeezing tightly—or, as Jack interpreted it, comfortingly—before he pulled the trigger. You couldn't have known it from the photo, but it was the last frame in the camera feed before the gun exploded and the film faded to static. The picture was famous, its meanings and metaphors dissected in every level of society. The Collective claimed it showed the brutality of the rebellion, the rebels themselves saw it as a sign of comradeship and brothers in arms—loyalty, confidence and unwavering bravery. Jack wasn't sure what the general public thought, as repressed and soft-spoken as they were, though it brought a quirk to his lips when he heard some of the more outrageous theories that people considered about his father and his best friend. Their opinion didn't matter, though, as long as he—and the others—knew the truth, and that was that they were good people who would do anything and everything in their power to help those they loved, and damn those who killed.

JD picked up on something different as he stared at the picture with widening blue eyes, so familiar, yet so different, from the man Jack knew as their leader. "His eyes..." he whispered. "When was this taken?"

Jack smiled weakly. "Before he was captured."

The dark-haired doctor stared intently at the screen for another moment before looking at Jack. "So the Collective don't know what happened to him? To his eyes, I mean?"

Jack took a deep breath before even attempting to answer his question.

"There are rumours," he began, "but nothing concrete. I suppose the higher-ups know, because they're who Adrian D'Arques reports to, but according to the general public, Dad never made it out of there alive."

JD frowned. "_What_? They covered it up? But why would the Collective even _do_ that?"

"That I don't have the answer to," Jack replied, "but I definitely don't think, as many do, that it was a matter of reputation. A lot of people think that it's because the Collective didn't want to seem incompetent—as they most definitely would have had they had to reveal the fact that even after years of trying, they still hadn't managed to apprehend my Dad and keep them there. I think it's something to do with what they did to him in there. They have a bigger plan, I know it, but I don't know what it is or why." He shook in frustration, ashamed by his inability to make sense of their actions. Because they didn't make sense.

Something in JD's eyes, however, spoke differently—as did the words that spilled from his mouth only moments later. "Maybe they _wanted_ him to escape?"

This time it was Jack's turn to gape. "What?"

But JD didn't say anymore on the subject. The look on his face—the calculating, almost knowing look—vanished without a trace. In its place was a mask of determination. _There's something he's not telling me,_ Jack realised after a moment, and while his first reaction was to snarl (his mother's reaction) or get it out of him (his father's reaction), he eventually resigned himself to the fact that JD would tell him when he was ready to, and no sooner. He had seen that look on his Dad's face all too often—there was no way in hell he'd speak unless he was ready to.

Despite the turmoil in his gut, Jack couldn't help but smile. _He doesn't even realise how much he's already growing into the man he'll once be._ Where he came from, JD was a brutally honest, yet caring person, who was torn between doing what was right by his morals and doing what was right by everyone else. Jack didn't know anybody else—not even his Dad—who would be able to handle the kind of pressure that rested on JD's shoulders each day. His Dad was strong, of course, the strongest man Jack knew, but he didn't have the ability to bounce back as JD did. He didn't have the optimism, the almost child-like ability to offer an entirely new, yet entirely obvious perspective. JD was invaluable, in spite of his flaws, and together he and his Dad made a pretty kick ass team.

Jack's smile grew wider. "We really got off topic, didn't we?"

JD, who had gotten lost in his thoughts since Jack drifted off into his own, came back to reality with a start. When he looked at Jack, the teenager could see the echo of that determination and focus on his face. His expression now, however, was a mixture of anticipation and confusion. "Hm?"

"You. Me. Wildly off topic."

"Ah, right." JD responded, distractedly.

Smile still in place, Jack decided to give him a little push. While still dealing with his own unrest, Jack was careful to keep his tone light, trying to remove the heaviness from the air on account of their previous discussion. "We were talking about your amazing plan to get Ben in and out of Sacred Heart without anybody else knowing? This plan having something to do with one Mrs. Espinosa-Turk?"

The dark-haired doctor in front of him stood in response. When Jack looked at him questioningly, he explained: "I think we'll need to get Perry's opinion before we go through with this plan, so I'm going to go to Sacred Heart to find him. I'll try and figure out how to get Ben in the hospital while I'm at it, and hopefully have a talk with Carla." JD smiled at Jack. "Let me deal with the big entrance and exit. You just think about the stuff in between."

Despite all the questions threatening to burst out of him at that moment, Jack just nodded in response.

When he smiled, it was wide and fake, masking the worry lying beneath it.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

JD approached Sacred Heart with his shoulders squared and his posture straight, as if somehow looking tall and determined would help him feel even a modicum of confidence about what he was about to do. He had no idea how Doctor Cox—_Perry_—would react to his and Jack's plan, how he would view all the variables and holes in its rugged, basic design. All he could hope for was that he saw a shred of potential in it, enough that he would actually agree to help them reshape it into something workable, a blueprint combining JD's ideas, Jack's intellect and his experience in the matter. It was a bit different breaking something _into_ a place than it was taking something out, JD knew, but if there was one person who could surpass all his expectations again and again, it was Perry Cox.

Keeping that thought at the forefront of his mind, JD squared his shoulders and walked through the threshold of the hospital's front door.

The busy atmosphere of the hospital that usually only added to JD's stresses when he came into work was something of a welcome reprieve from the chaos his life had now become. It was familiar, safe, a part of his life that never really changed, just adapted to whatever new outbreak or case study they were working on treating that week. As the relief settled, however, it was accompanied by a rising guilt for not returning to Sacred Heart sooner. His last trip had been so rushed and unplanned that he had never had the time to think about his feelings on the matter, or to appreciate both the efficiency of the staff and the changes they were making to society by helping these sick, injured and disabled people. If he was honest to himself, he didn't have the time now, either, to think about it.

No, he had to find Perry, and fast.

_Doesn't that always seem the case nowadays?_ He sighed to himself, but hopped into the nearest elevator anyway. _I really, really hope he hasn't moved. I could be looking for hours if he has..._

On the ride up, JD's thoughts drifted to the second part of the setup for their plan. It would be difficult convincing Carla, Turk and Elliot to help him with something he couldn't exactly tell them about, but if one agreed to it, he knew the rest would follow. Well, Turk and Elliot would, which meant JD was stuck with asking the hospital's resident gossip queen to do something for him without giving her any reason to whatsoever. _Perfect,_ he thought glumly, _that's yet another reason why we should just give up on this plan before it's even begun._

But even as he was thinking it, JD knew that the major difficulties they faced in executing the plan weren't the real issue, at least not as to why he was feeling so nervous at that moment. They _were_ nerve-wracking, no doubt, but his talk with Jack was even more so. What he'd discovered about the future, his companionship with the people around him in spite of the dynamic shift and, most importantly, why Perry was dead to the world, it—well, it had created a more troubling issue for him to deal with. His instincts were virtually _screaming _at him to look deeper, that what he saw on the surface wasn't what was to be expected. They were telling him that there was more to all this, that the Collective _wanted_ Perry to escape for some unfathomable reason, and though he couldn't fully disclose his theory to Jack, at least in reference to the virus, it didn't stop his mind from thinking of it now. Somehow, in some way, this had to do with the fact that Perry had the Juvenile virus. He just _knew_ it. And he didn't doubt, even for a second, that he was given the virus by the Collective when he was captured. The when or how wasn't even an issue for him, but the question of why had been plaguing him since he had left.

_Why_ give Perry the virus, when it wasn't even contagious? _Why_ let him go, allow the world to presume he was dead, when they could do so much damage by spinning it in the other direction? JD was no closer to discovering the answers to these questions as he was when he first contemplated them in the middle of the warehouse a mere hour ago. He had a feeling it would take a lot longer than he expected to get even an _inkling_ of the Collective's master plan, let alone any tangible reason as to why they did what they did to him in the first place.

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, if this would have been easier if Daniel Knott had lived. At least then he would have been able to brainstorm with the man, even if he did give him the creeps.

On that slightly disheartened note, the elevator doors slid open and JD stepped out, already making his way towards the roof entrance. It wasn't long at all before he was face-to-face with the door that led out into the cool breeze of the afternoon, and while JD had no idea how he'd gotten there so fast, he wasn't one to complain. If it meant he could get this over with sooner, know the end result quicker, or, most importantly, get the question of _why _off his mind, then it was all fine by him. Remembering their last conversation, the tense line of JD's shoulders relaxed somewhat—they had parted on friendly grounds, after all, which meant he had nothing to worry about. _There's no way he'd throw my—let alone his own son's—ideas away without at least considering their potential,_ he realised. _Perry isn't like that..._

Worst case scenario, he figured, Perry would tell them that the plan needs some work, and that he'll be on board once they fix it up.

_Now_ _all I have to do is get myself to believe it._

_Or better yet, _he added in his mind a moment later,_ allow myself to talk to him without bursting from the seams about what's _really_ on my mind._

Just as he was about to push open the door, JD stilled, pressing his ear against the door in hope of clarifying what it was he had just heard. And there it was again—the faint sound of voices ringing out into the open air of the roof. He recognised one of them instantly. It was Perry. But who was he talking to?

There was really only one way to find out.

JD pushed open the door. The two figures arguing in front of him stilled and turned in unison to face him. He took in the hardened expression on Perry's face, tense with surprise at his somewhat unannounced entrance, then moved to Carla's, who just looked plain startled. As he took in that look, he couldn't help but crack a smile in spite of himself.

"Well that's made_ that_ easier."

His words seemed to break the spell of shock that had fallen over them. Carla's hand flew to her chest, and she let out a small hoot of laughter. JD guessed that she knew enough to know anybody else catching her speaking to Perry was a Very Bad Idea (it was capitalised, that's how bad it was) and while his relief that this wasn't going to cause a massive argument between the two of them in the future when he tried to bargain for her cooperation was overwhelming, so was the rather strong feeling of dread that had pooled in his stomach when he saw her. He knew what this meant, even as she—most likely—didn't. It meant that she was another person they'd have to protect, another person of whom they'd have to convince to lie to everyone she knew and loved, another person, damn it, that would be involved in this.

A quick glance at Perry confirmed that he, too, knew the risk.

JD's gaze sharpened, silently conveying to Perry that this would indeed be a subject of debate between them the next time they were alone. Carla saw the glance, however, translated its meaning, and asked him softly: "Do you want me to go?" The look on her face gave JD the impression that she'd wanted to say something different, or even do the exact opposite to what she was asking them, but she stood by it.

JD and Perry opened their mouths at the same time, but their answers were different.

"Yes."

"_No._"

A small smile snuck through Carla's worried gaze. "I'll leave you two alone for a while, to talk it out." JD nodded curtly, and Perry sighed. It was easy to determine who had given what answer from their differing reactions. Carla made her way towards the roof entrance, but turned on her heel a moment later. She centred her gaze on Perry and added solemnly: "Remember what we talked about."

JD was itching to ask him what Carla meant by that, but he knew the moment the sound of her heels stopped echoing down the stairs that all hell would break loose.

He was right.

"Mind telling me what the hell that was about, _JD_?" He spat the name like a curse.

JD resisted the urge to shudder or, worse, fold against the anger in Perry's voice, and instead looked firmly at the ground. When he had regained himself long enough not to quiver in his boots at the sight of his mentor's angry face, JD lifted his gaze. Perry's face was all hard edges and plains, his mouth pursed into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed to meet the edge of his glasses.

When he finally spoke, the question came out a lot weaker than he'd expected.

"Why did you tell her?"

The softness in his voice made Perry visibly flinch. It seemed the older man had been expecting the question, but was just as unprepared as JD was asking it. His hard expression deflated, and JD saw the exact moment that all the anger drained out of his body. Perry moved to grip the concrete barrier that prevented them from falling over the rooftop and onto the asphalt of the parking lot below, his knuckles white.

"I know the risks, Newbie. I don't need you to tell me them, or to look at me like—like _that._" Before JD could figure out what he meant by that, Perry continued to speak. "We need her, JD. Or maybe _I _need her. I'm not sure which one it is anymore. I don't know if you can understand this, but Carla brings me back to reality, more than anything—or anyone—else."

Perry turned his gaze to JD, almost as if he were pleading with him to understand. But JD knew better. Perry Cox didn't plead. He didn't give a damn about how his words affected others, how they affected him. JD could taste a bitter tang on his tongue, something the man in front of him would roll his eyes at and tell him it was jealousy, but JD wasn't jealous of Carla, especially not after what she had just learnt.

No, that bitter tang wasn't jealousy.

It was anger.

JD prided himself in someone who didn't get angry very often—and in those rare times he was very often provoked the point of just snapping—but lately he'd been noticing that bitter taste on his tongue more and more often, his body stiffening and every instinct honed to attack. In the past, he managed to reel it in before the anger became anything tangible, but this time he didn't even try.

Perhaps someone else would have realised what those words did to him, but not Perry Cox. If JD was honest with himself, it wasn't what he'd said that had truly pushed him to the brink, but the simple fact that he had _actually_ entertained the thought that he might be someone who Perry trusted. Oh, he knew it would happen eventually, but what would it take to get them there? What would he have to sacrifice to see even a degree of respect? JD had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer to that question, that it would most likely involve a far greater price than he was willing to pay. He might love the man before him—almost unconditionally, even—but sometimes he was such an _ass._

He knew it wouldn't help the situation any by asking, but damn it all if he was going to sit back and simply _pretend_ to understand when he really, really didn't.

When the words came out, they were so much softer than he'd intended, and filled with a vulnerability and hurt he didn't know he'd felt until now.

"Why didn't you come to me, then?"

Perry heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. JD had averted his gaze to the side as he spoke, but his eyes now flitted back up to the older man's face as he awaited his reply. The same inevitable reply that JD knew, deep down, would absolutely crush him.

"Listen, Newbie—"

JD's patience snapped clean in two at the nickname as it left the older man's lips. What had once been an endearment was now twisted and distorted into a vicious insult as the words crashed against his ears.

"Do _not_ call me that, damnit! I am not an intern anymore, nor am I a child, so if you want to address me, address me by my name!"

The _you pathetic bastard_ JD almost added at the end of the sentence was silent, but it did not go unsaid. Both men froze at precisely the same time, JD in shock and Perry in unprecedented rage. When Perry composed himself long enough to respond to JD's words, his voice was tight and strained, but betrayed no hint of the frenzy that flashed across his face beforehand. In fact, if JD had to hazard a guess, he'd say the older man sounded more disappointed than he did angry.

Of course, that cut him deeper than any rant possibly could have.

"This is what I was referring to, _JD._" Again, his name was spat at him rather than spoken. JD flinched despite himself, but his scathing words didn't stop there. "You're not ready to hear the truth of the situation, especially not if this is how you'd react to it. You're too fucking _childish_, too naive to even grasp the bigger picture here. It's bigger than you or me, or your poor, hurt_ feelings_. It's bigger than any of us. Carla at least understands that. You can't even comprehend the notion that this might all be bigger than you, you self-obsessed jackass."

JD felt his face harden, the way it hadn't done in years. It was an ongoing struggle to silence the words that were threatening to climb up his throat and exit his mouth. In an amazing display of self control—for him, at least—JD bit back the bitter words and straightened, before turning on his heel and walking back towards the roof entrance.

After walking a few paces towards it, however, JD stilled. Before he could even begin to contemplate what it was he was about to do, he turned around to face the man behind him.

"I know more than you think, Perry," he said softly, his voice full of the hurt he hadn't allowed himself to feel until that very moment. JD recited the next words perfectly, his voice never wavering.

"'The Storm has come and the Harbinger has spoken, through me, to you'."

Perry jerked up at his words. Or, more specifically, at Daniel Knott's words.

"_What did you just say_?"

For a moment, JD simply blinked at the absolute desperation laced in the older man's words. Then, upon remembering exactly what he'd thrown upon him only moments ago, JD shook himself out of his stupor.

"That got your attention, didn't it?" JD asked darkly, lifting his chin up condescendingly. He knew he was being a complete jerk, but after the way he felt he'd been treated by the older man, he couldn't bring himself to care. "Well you know what? You should have trusted me when you had the chance, Perry, because now I think _you're _too naive to hear it."

Without giving him a single second to react to his words, JD spun on his heel and turned to leave for the second time in so many moments.

_I will not bow to you,_ he thought, fuming. _Not about this._

This time when he left, JD descended the stairs without looking back.

_I will not fall, I will not fade,  
__I will take your breath away.  
__And I'll survive, paranoid;  
__I have lost the will to change._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **I think it's safe to assume that you will be seeing a _lot_ more of Carla in the coming chapters, especially as she acts as mediator between JD and Perry. I know some may think that JD was acting out of character at the end there, but I definitely think his character has changed from the events of the story, at least temporarily. Just remember: he cares about Perry. A lot. So much, in fact, that he decided to bury his hurt that he hadn't told him about his exposure in order to make things better for him. But JD's human, like everyone else, and after being told he can't be trusted by the one person he's trying so hard to be good to—it has to hurt. That is how I justify his actions to anybody who believes he was OOC. But hell, I don't know if anyone will even think so, so I'll just shut up now.

Comments are very much appreciated, loved and taken care of. Constructive criticism is also very welcome, god knows I need it.

Until next time,

- _Exangeline_


	19. The Divide

**DISCLAIMER:** Scrubs is owned by Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, not even the plot, which is more a combination of my favourite devices than any creative work conceived solely by myself. Lyrics in this arc belong to Breaking Benjamin, and all are from their new Dear Agony album which I _still_ can't stop listening to.

**AUTHORS NOTE:** I don't think I just wrote a chapter—I think I just wrote a beast. This thing is literally the longest piece of writing I have ever attempted, and is approximately 9,000 words of pure, unadulterated _My Trigger_. Believe it or not, I actually have a legitimate reason for not being able to post this entire time. Other than life being ruthless in its attempts to distract me with its daily drama, I've actually been rewriting my outline for this story. Until now I've been a little sketchy on the details as to what's happening in this arc, because my plans for it are huge and the amount of preparation I had for it was, well, nil. So I've revisited just about everything from this chapter to the next interlude (from Jack's perspective) which is coming up in about three or four chapters time, depending on how these next few are received. Any updates will be added to my profile page, including information on _My Sharpshooter_, the story's possible sequel, and what my plans are for it. But I do believe I've rambled on enough! Without further ado, here is Chapter XV—_The Divide_.

Lyrics adapted from the song _Dear Agony_ by Breaking Benjamin_._

* * *

**CHAPTER XV: THE DIVIDE**

_And I will find the enemy within,  
__'Cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin.  
__Dear agony, just let go of me.  
__Suffer slowly,  
__Is this the way it's got to be?_

The moment JD turned on his heel and disappeared past the threshold of the door, Perry's anger cooled into a heavy, iron ball that came to rest in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly unable to keep himself upright, he rested his body against the concrete barrier that separated him from meeting a gruesome death on the black asphalt below, and sighed loudly. He could already feel the crushing weight of the guilt that had lodged itself in his chest, and he didn't have to look twice to realise that it was settling in for the long haul. While he knew he should be addressing the elephant that had abruptly filled the room—or, well, what could pass for a room when you were standing on the roof of a building—he couldn't help but get caught up in his own frustrations instead. He'd waited weeks to receive the Harbinger's next message, so it stood to reason that he could wait a few minutes more before acting on it.

He shut his scarred eyes and tilted his head up to the sun, feeling its soft warmth press against his face like a kiss he didn't deserve. When his eyelids flickered open a second later, he found himself captivated by the ball of heat above and stared searchingly into it. It was the same thing he'd done that very first day he opened his eyes and could see again, marvelling at the simple ability he had to look at things, while his doctor marvelled similarly at his stupidity. He felt the digital corneas attempt to process the sudden influx of light, and it wasn't long before they adjusted accordingly. The stinging pain of looking into something so bright ebbed and flowed for a second before disappearing completely, almost like his body was telling him not to punish it for his mistakes—that this was something he was going to have to go through alone.

He didn't blame it for an instant, because above and beyond his complete lack of tact was the fact that the fight had been an undeniably _stupid_ thing to start. Instead of treading patiently around the subject of Carla like he should have done, like he'd _planned_ to, he'd charged recklessly into the black pit of emotion at the bottom of his gut and drowned himself in it. He knew it wasn't right to involve anybody else in this, he really did, but when JD had stared at him with that agonisingly hurt look on his face after he'd told him why, the suffocating guilt that formed the pit's lining had transformed into an overwhelming feeling of resentment—at the clusterfuck his life had become since the end began; at himself, for not being strong enough to keep his identity a secret from a woman whose life he had just made a hell of a lot more difficult; at the disappointment in the dark-haired doctor's doe-eyed stare, and the utter worthlessness he felt when he saw that look. It was the last one that sent him flying off the edge, speeding down the cliff-face towards the heavy and bottomless black that awaited him at the end of his freefall.

Perry flinched, an action which caused him to avert his gaze to the concrete wall across from him. Sunspots danced across his vision as the synthetic muscles in his eyes imitated their flesh-and-blood counterparts, but much like the former pain of staring directly into the sun, the discomfort faded quickly. It was only now that he had distanced himself from his anger that he remembered what had happened before the darkness hit him in his devastating fall from rationality. It was only now that he remembered what he had seen, felt and heard—a memory, erected in the forefront of his mind as he made his decent...

The man he was speaking to in the memory was exactly like all the other men, women and children on the frontline—another poor bastard who had seen far too much in far too short a time; another tortured, restless soul who had lost everything but his life, which would undoubtedly be the next thing that was stripped from him. When Perry had looked up at this man's words, however, he saw something in his eyes he hadn't seen in years. Instead of looking at him with an expression full of stunted, crippling despair or cold, unshakable silence, the man fixed him with a look of utter, consoling kindness, blue eyes sparkling with a warmth that could fuel the very sun Perry had spent so long staring at. The man wore a wide, charming smile that seemed the perfect complement to his vibrant eyes as he joked:

"_If you suppress yourself any further, Perry, you're going to wake up inside out." _The man paused, a contemplative look surfacing on his face._ "Or worse—" _he said, voice foreboding,_ "—you're going to turn somebody _else_ inside out."_ Despite himself, Perry had let out a laugh. The man was right, of course, but it came as no surprise to him. This man was _always_ right.

Then, as if he was able to pluck the very thought right out of Perry's head, those blue eyes had grown serious, urging.

_"Tell me what you're really feeling—I promise you I can take it."_

And as he contemplated his outburst at a safe distance from the thick fog of anger that had overwhelmed him earlier, the irony that was lost to him then was made open to him now. The irony that was the fact that the man in his thoughts—the man with the bright eyes—was, coincidentally, the same man that had stood before him only moments ago.

_JD._

In the end, Perry wasn't sure if it was the guilt, the resentment or even his underlying sadness over the fact that the man he saw in his memories was no longer available for him to open up to—having been replaced by this earlier, alternate version of him, whose eyes hadn't seen nearly enough, and understood even less—but when he looked up to meet the kid's defiant stare in his simmering rage, something broke within him. He hadn't been aware that there was anything _left_ to break, but break it had, and instead of seeing the man before him as who he really was, he saw him as the man he would become. In a lapse of judgement, he forgot _entirely_ how painstakingly new the dark-haired doctor before him was to this level of reality, how unused he was to dealing with somebody as beaten and shattered as Perry. How was he to know that in 2018, Percival Cox was nothing more than a broken man, the twisted right-hand to the rebel command? How could JD even hope to fathom that he was the one they asked to do their dirty work for them—that he was the only one traumatized enough who would? John Dorian, in comparison, had become an integral part in all their lives, the man that they knew they couldn't live without. He represented the one thing that the people had lost: _hope_. But how was he to know?

He wasn't.

Instead, he believed that Perry's words were a sign that the auburn-haired man saw him as nothing more than a fumbling idiot. How was the kid to know that even in his misplaced anger, he'd never intended for it to come out that way?

He couldn't know...

_...Because I didn't tell him,_ he realised. _Even after Carla told me I should, even after I_ agreed_ to, however reluctantly that was. I didn't tell him. I couldn't._

Perry sighed, dropping his head into his hands and wondering why—_why_, in the name of _Ayesha_—he'd ever agreed to partake in this whole 'sharing your emotions' thing in the first place. He scrubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes, feeling the jagged edge of his scars, flanked on either side by weathered skin. In that moment, he felt every bit of his age, while every fibre of his being longed for the simple days. The days before any of this had ever happened—back when it was just him, his patients, and the bastard-coated bastards with _bastard_-fucking-_filling_ that occupied the other 98% of the world. Even as the very thought passed through his brain, however, Perry knew that just wishing for it wasn't going to do him any good. If there was anything he had learnt, it was that these hardships weren't made for you to just balance on the balls of your feet in idle hope that the problem will just magically fix itself and be on its merry little way. No. You had to _work_ for it. You had to fight, tooth and nail, for what you wanted. You had to fight, knowing full well that today may be your last... that today may be _everybody's_ last. You had to fight, and never stop fighting, because the moment you stopped—the moment you hesitated—you were dead.

That was what life had become for him, and he wanted it to stop.

But he couldn't stop, not when there was still the chance that this bleak existence could become life for everybody, both in this reality and his own, if he stopped fighting. If he allowed himself, even for a second, to doubt what they were doing here. He couldn't afford to doubt, not until that option was swept _right off _the table. Not until every remaining member of the Collective stood trial for what they've done.

"So don't doubt," he told himself, even as his mind wondered if it was ever that simple for anybody anywhere.

But regardless of how difficult it would be, Perry knew was no room for doubt, now more than ever. Instead of focusing on what had happened between him and JD—though he was determined to set things right again—he needed to focus on the here and now. His mind, which had previously run amok with everything he had said and done, now fixated itself on what he had learnt. The Harbinger's next message was something he had been waiting for the moment they had set foot in the past. This man on the inside, whoever he may be, was the only reason they had found the technology to travel back in the first place, and while he and Jack had formulated their own plan, it was clear to the both of them that the Harbinger had other—_grander_—plans. Whatever he had set into motion would happen soon, perhaps even sooner than they had thought...

_'The storm has come...'_

Now he just had to figure out what the hell the storm _was_.

* * *

After walking down approximately twelve corridors, three flights of stairs and one abandoned wing of the hospital, JD came to a sudden and staggering halt in the middle of _Sacred Heart_, breath shuddering to a stop in his chest as the full and far-reaching reality of what he had just donesunk in. His eyes widened in horror as his mind replayed the mistake over and over again, and he was forced to lean over himself to calm the sudden and maddening rush of panic that bubbled in his throat at the thought. He was too far gone to care about the awkward looks he received from passing staff at his sudden mental breakdown in the middle of the busy hallway, but when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder and lifted his gaze to the worried eyes of the nurse on call, the idea of being comforted—_him,_ being comforted—by anybody forced him away from prying eyes and into the empty patient's room on his left.

He brushed the nurse away with a smile that stretched too far across his face to be real, and a half-hearted mumbling of "I'm fine" when she followed him in. He couldn't quite remember her name; he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

Hesitating for a single moment before pulling away, the nurse left the room and was quickly lost in the crowd of people in the corridor. When he was sure nobody else would disturb him, JD shut the door softly behind him and moved towards one of the two patient beds in the room. Settling himself in for the long haul, he attempted to make sense of his thoughts, which wasn't exactly a hard task as they only consisted of one repeated sentence.

_What the _hell_ did I just do?_

After analysing the sentence about a thousand times in his brain, the only response he came up with was one that made him flinch the moment he thought of it. But that didn't make it any less true.

What had he done? He'd insulted the intelligence and the integrity of a war veteran, that's what.

Because Perry was as about as naive as JD was a duck, and he sure as hell didn't have any subconscious urge to flap non-existent wings and yell "QUACK!" anytime soon. JD put his head in his hands, feeling unshakably miserable. After a moment of silently contemplating his own imminent demise—because there was _no _way Perry was going to take that kind of behaviour lying down—he scrubbed his hands over his face and released a low, drawn-out moan that he felt sufficiently covered everything that had happened to him in the past few hours. Then he spoke out to the empty room, as if somehow, someway, the shadows leaking from the corners could provide him with the answers he sought.

"Could this get any worse?"

The last thing he expected was that somebody would actually respond to his (quite rhetorical) question.

"Could _what_ get any worse?"

For a brief moment, his mind entertained the thought that maybe the shadows _were_ speaking to him, until he realised that no, JD, shadows did _not_ talk, not ever. He jumped to his feet then, eyes searching the room for the source of the voice. He found it on the opposing bed, the privacy curtains drawn to hide the figure from view. JD certainly hadn't looked close enough if he assumed the room was empty, then. Past his initial shock, JD realised that he recognised the voice, and that simple fact was enough to bring the bubbling panic straight back to his throat again.

"Per—Doctor Cox?"

The privacy curtains parted in front of him, revealing a bleary-eyed, wild-haired, _white-coated_ Doctor Cox. It took a moment for it to click in JD's brain that this wasn't the man he had just outrageously insulted, but his present counterpart, the same cantankerous man he worked with every day and constantly—somewhat desperately—looked to for approval. His body collapsed in relief, which was apparently quite obvious a change in posture, as it earned him a raised eyebrow and a questioning look from the auburn-haired doctor in front of him. When JD didn't speak (as he had, in fact, forgotten that he'd been asked a question in the first place), Doctor Cox sighed, brushed his thumb against his nose and crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit the closed-off, intimidating mentor JD knew.

He motioned to the bed behind him. "Sit."

Unable to defy the man's orders, especially not with his mind in such a defective state, JD sat.

The next few moments passed in silence. It wasn't until JD flinched from his place on the bed that Cox spoke.

"I know I'm going to hate myself for asking this, Rebecca, and you will pay_ dearly_ for it if you tell any of your friends that this conversation ever happened, but what the _hell's_ gotten your pretty pink panties in such a bunch," Cox shifted, managing to look both extremely uncomfortable and thoroughly annoyed at the same time, "and why couldn't it wait until I'd actually slept more than ten seconds in the last week?"

In spite of how obvious it was that neither of them wanted to have this conversation, JD found himself speaking, voice laced with sadness and shame. "I had an argument with Per—a_ friend_. We didn't exactly see eye to eye about something, and I said some things that were completely out of line."

Doctor Cox frowned. "What kinds of things?"

_Wow,_ JD thought when he realised that the man in front of him was actually _encouraging_ him to continue speaking; _he's really serious about this..._

He hesitated only for a moment before saying, "I called him naive."

"_So_?"

JD averted his gaze from his hands, gyrating nervously in his lap, to stare blankly at the opposing wall. "Trust me, Doctor Cox," he began with a shadow of a smile, "if you ever met this man, you'd realise that he's _anything_ but naive." Cox just raised an eyebrow at the statement, but nodded. "Then—well, _then_ I dropped a bombshell on him that made the one he dropped on me microscopic in comparison." He dropped his head into his hands, flinching openly as he remembered the look of absolute shock that had crossed Perry's face when he told him about the Harbinger's message, and the desperation that had followed.

"And what did _he_ drop on _you_ to make you say all that to him?"

JD lifted his head from its place in his hands. "What?"

"He'd had to have provoked you in some way, Newbie, so what did he say?"

JD swallowed, but answered the question: "He told me that I wasn't ready to be trusted, that I wouldn't be able to _handle_ the sort of things he had to deal with. I guess, in a nutshell, _he_ called _me_ naive first."

Doctor Cox's hands came up to rest behind his head as he shifted off the bed and began to pace the length of the room. JD recognised this as a sign that he wasn't exactly happy with the way this conversation was going, and was trying to summon enough patience and humanity to respond to what he had been told. While he knew what was to come wouldn't exactly be the mentor-protégé bonding moment he'd always dreamt of, the fact that Doctor Cox was even considering giving him advice was enough to make the bitter smile that stretched his lips a little more genuine. After another minute of walking the room's length, Doctor Cox's hands fell back to his sides and the older man turned to face him.

"I'll be the first to say that you're definitely na-_hot_ the most mature person I've ever met—in fact, you don't even make the list, there, Susan—but this guy is 100% bastard material if he thinks that you can't be trusted. I mean, you have to have _some _appeal for half the people you're friends with to actually tolerate you, and I know at least one mutual friend we have that trusts you enough to tell you her secrets. Mind you, I'm not saying that that appeal is working for you in any way, shape or form, since Barbie and Ghandi are the last two people I'd be friends with in this dump—and before you faint in girlish delight, Newbie, I'll let you know you're the _third last _person on _that_ particular list—but anybody who calls themself your friend and actually means it has an obligation to trust you as you trust them. With some people, it's damn near impossible to get them to confide in you, but they shouldn't insult you to get their point across, no matter how justified they believe it to be. You shouldn't have to feel sorry for the things you said if the person you said them to doesn't even have the common decency to let you down easily. And from what I've heard about this supposed friend of yours, this guy really _is_ naive."

JD couldn't stop the gratified smile that crossed over his face right then, even though the irony of Doctor Cox's words wasn't lost on him like it was on the man himself. "Thanks, Doctor Cox."

Doctor Cox looked a little put out at the change in demeanour that overtook JD right then, but didn't say anything about it at least. While he still felt what he had said to Perry was wrong, he no longer felt the sharp stab of regret that had overtook him before. He'd apologise, definitely, but he wouldn't beat himself up so hard about it anymore. Not when the man himself—albeit from a different time—seemed to think he shouldn't.

After a lengthy silence—where JD sat, perfectly comfortable, while his mentor's face shifted from decidedly _un_comfortable to irritated, harsh and vintage Cox all over—the man finally growled:

"Now get the hell out of here, Diana, so I can get some _damn sleep_."

But there was a smile beginning to tug at his lips when he ushered JD out of the room, and the dark-haired doctor couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

"Would I be crossing your proverbial line of morality if I shot your great uncle Argyle in the face?"

Jack snorted, looking up from the computer screen to see his mother resting her weight against the threshold of the door, arms folded across her chest with an eyebrow cocked in his direction as she waited for his response. The question wasn't exactly surprising, just humorous, and the fact that she looked pissed as hell was something he'd had his entire childhood to get used to. It didn't bother him much, not even when people shot him looks of sympathy at being the focus of one of her rants, because even in his most petulant of moods, he knew the anger was never really directed at him—and that when it was, it was for good reason, something Jordan never did anything without.

What _did_ surprise him, however, were the lines of exhaustion he could see creeping up into her expression. He'd seen it before—many times, and on many different people—because nobody endured the horror of the future without losing some part of their soul to it. But to see it written so plainly on her face _now_, in the past, was worrying. Guilt smothered his thoughts when he realised that it was essentially his fault she looked like this—it was his idea to go back, after all, to play gay chicken with destiny (which was getting its ass handed to it, guilt or no guilt) in a half-hearted attempt to salvage what was left of his future. A noble pursuit, he knew, but one that cost the people around him—the people here and now, in the present of an alternate universe whose future had yet to be decided. Instead of one time line, he was now playing with two, in hope that the second one didn't end up exactly the same as his.

_It won't, _he told himself. _We won't let it._

He didn't allow the concern or the guilt to linger on his face for long, because the last thing he wanted was to burden his mother with his problems when she already had so many of her own. Instead, he pushed it to the back of his thoughts to be pondered upon and worried about later. To Jordan, he smiled. "Unfortunately, yes."

She grumbled, and Jack's smile ventured into smirk territory.

Sparing a moment's glance at the monitor in front of him, and determining that it was pretty safe to leave it alone for a while, he turned to her and prompted: "What did he say to you this time?"

This appeared to be the exact opening Jordan needed to descend into a full-blown rant. He didn't exactly follow everything she was saying, but managed to get the general gist of it from what he could hear—she was mumbling under her breath, after all, speaking more to herself than she was to Jack, not that he minded. In fact, he preferred it. This way he could lean back and observe, drawing his own conclusions all the while, and only getting involved when it came to proving them right. After a full minute of gathering his thoughts and waiting patiently for a hole in the one-sided conversation Jordan seemed to be carrying out, he finally got it amidst her colourful description of the "double-crossing, back-stabbing bastardry" that Argyle Cox oozed "every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of..." _well, you get the gist, _he thought to himself.

"So," he cut in when she finally stopped at 'every millennia' to heave a breath, "Basically, he's making a decision that you don't like, but you're unable to full-out refuse it, because it actually seems to have some merit."

Jordan rolled her eyes. "Well, when you put it _that way,_ Jack," she said, sarcastically. "I don't care if it's a good idea, because it's _not happening!_"

Jack's lips had definitely breached smirk territory. Hell, he was going for the grin.

"Is that because there's something fundamentally _wrong_ with the plan, or because you don't like that he suggested it first?"

Jordan stifled an irritated scream, rubbing at her temples in aggravation. Then, right before his eyes, her anger deflated, as if somebody had undone the fine knot that kept it all together. Jack blinked in surprise, because his mother's anger _never_ deflated—it exploded, more often than not after a sharp retort that stabs at the thin, rubber walls of her patience. The Jordan Sullivan he knew didn't deflate.

He was thinking that maybe he didn't know her much at all, then. Instead of the thought filling him with sadness, he smiled, because that meant there was hope for her yet. She didn't have to become... what she would be.

"Fine," she said quietly, but with a fine edge in her tone that didn't go unnoticed to Jack's ears. "You want to know the plan? Here's the plan: Argyle wants us to relocate to one of his bases. Need I remind you that there are two major flaws in that plan? One, we'll have to move all the technology that the Collective built here which, contrary to what your great-uncle seems to believe, is not easy, and two—and listen to me on this one, Jack, because it's important—we'll be under _his_ influence, _his_ control, _we'll_ finally owe _him _something. He's gotten us this far just on what he's doing for your father, but that's all going to change once we accept this. I, for one, don't really like the idea of being anywhere near his circle of authority, because when you get in bed with Argyle Cox, it's a hell of a job getting out—the man clings to you tighter than a leech, and demands twice the amount in blood."

Jack nodded, taking this into account, but something about her words didn't sit right with him, because Jordan _knew_ this—she knew what Argyle was like, what he would demand, how he would play the game and manipulate them so well they'd believe that it was their idea in the first place. But she'd _still_ been willing to make a deal with him the first time, definitely more willing than he or his father had been. He knew her sight wasn't limitless, but if there was one thing she knew like the back of her hand, it was their family. It was the thing that mattered most to her, what she hadn't taken her eyes off since she was a little girl, growing up with a cursed gift.

Something in Jack stirred at the mention of her sight in his musings. Following his usual routine of observation, the gathering of data and discovery, he kept his thoughts to himself, but spurred her along with something that was equally as pressing to him, and would lead them in the right direction at the same time. He never liked the analogy of killing two birds with one stone, but if he had to use it, it would be here: "Really, though, what's so wrong with this plan? And I'm not talking about moving to _his_ base in particular, but moving at all? We agreed that even though the enemy is far too smart for us to be hidden from them for long, that this warehouse right here would be the first place they looked—it's their point of origin, after all, so whether they like it or not, they'll always materialise somewhere in the area. Why do you want to be stuck in a dank, empty, decrepit warehouse?"

The look on her face told him everything he needed to know—he was right, again, but for some reason it didn't fill him with the same amount of confidence that it usually did when he figured something out about her.

"It's not the idea of moving that worries me," she admitted. When Jack raised an eyebrow, she shook her head. "Really, it doesn't. I didn't like the idea before now because I'd seen too much happen at this place that hadn't yet occurred, and I knew that moving would hinder what was to come—what was_ meant_ to come, and it turned out I was right. We met Sebastian Stark, and we've entered into a deal with him. That's what I saw—that's why we couldn't move. Now, though, we're offered this chance to get out of this place, to be safe, and it's not that idea that doesn't sit well with me, but the fact that it's being offered with no strings attached."

Jack frowned. There were unexpected variables to her confession, but his general hypothesis was still being proven correct. Still... "Have you seen anything? I mean, anything that would indicate that he's about to double-cross us?"

Jordan was silent for a long time. When she next spoke, her voice was filled with something he hadn't heard come from her in a long, long time.

Fear.

"That's what worries me, Jack," she began, eyes glazing over as she looked into a distance he couldn't even begin to fathom. "This is all coming together perfectly... _too_ perfectly."

"So we're having some good luck for a change, what's so wrong about that?" The words flowed unwelcome, unbidden from his mouth. Jack didn't want to know the answer—the stakes were too high if his mother, his pinnacle of strength, was shaken by this. But he couldn't take them back now—all he could do was wait, as anxiety's cold chill crept up his spine, and as she formulated her reply.

Jordan turned her head to look at her son.

"I haven't seen a single thing, Jack—Argyle Cox is being a decent human being, and it scares the hell out of me."

* * *

JD was perturbed.

As he contemplated this, he realised that he hadn't spent a lot of time in his life feeling perturbed—oh sure, he spent _plenty_ of time feeling anxious, worried, disturbed, agitated and all the other synonyms for the word, but when he really thought about it, as in really, _really_ thought about it, the only reason he could come up with for his lack of general perturbation in life was the fact that he just wasn't a very perturbed person. He wasn't the type to feel troubled all that often, and whenever he did, he always found comfort in the arms or advice of a friend, depending on who that friend was. But standing at the base of Sacred Heart's emergency access ramp, thinking about how simple his life had been a mere three days ago, JD wasn't sure if any of his friends would understand what was worrying him this time around; probably because he didn't understand it either.

Despite having been put at ease by the present counterpart of the man himself, JD couldn't help but feel a resounding guilt about his argument with Perry. While he knew that the fight wasn't entirely his fault, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more he could have done to accommodate Perry, to remember exactly _who _it was he was dealing with. He knew, deep down, that the auburn-haired man who perplexed him so was the same grouchy doctor who had just thrown him out of an empty room so he could sleep on his shift, but he couldn't help but get hung up on the differences between the two men—mostly because there were so _many_ of them.

It took him a while to understand why it had hurt so much more when Perry had shut him out rather than Doctor Cox, but when he did; he found it all led back to those differences. With the Doctor Cox he knew, distrust was a given, and while it was a harsh thing to have to deal with—especially when you were expected to cultivate a working relationship with said closed-off, perpetually grumpy man—there was never any miscommunication there, no false sense of security. Perry, however, was a whole other story. With him, JD never knew where he stood, whether he was going to be treated like an old friend and equal, or if he was going to be completely stonewalled for reasons he was never really told.

That on its own was troubling, but even as he thought about it, JD knew that Perry's fluctuating emotions weren't the issue here. He didn't like not knowing which one he was going to stumble into the next time something like this happened—whether he was going to be greeted with an open expression or be given the cold shoulder for the day—but he knew that there was a reason behind it, whatever that reason may be. And while Perry might not see fit to entrust JD with his most personal thoughts, at the very least he may decide to open up to Carla, or Jordan, which would hopefully relieve some of the stress he knew the older man must be feeling—

And there it was.

JD blinked, once, then stilled. It made sense now, the reason why he was so troubled, so _perturbed_ by this. The reason why, even after Doctor Cox had straightened him out, he had walked straight out of the back entrance to the hospital in a complete daze, unable to get Perry's wide, bloodshot eyes out of his mind. The reason why losing himself in thoughts of Carla peeling back the layers of Perry's psyche, getting to open up to her about how he was really feeling filled him with an odd, detached sense of relief he couldn't understand. The reason why guilt rose to the forefront of his mind the moment he thought about the argument, even though he was well aware that the fallout wasn't his fault alone.

The reason why he was so disturbed about this, the reason why his sadness, worry and guilt had taken over for him, wasn't due to the plethora of emotions he was feeling at the moment but, rather, the emotions he _wasn't_ feeling.

The _anger_ he wasn't feeling.

JD was perturbed because... he wasn't angry. He knew he'd been angry before. Hell, he'd been _furious_ before, and even when that initial bout of fury had simmered down with the realisation of the rising panic of what he'd done, then calmed by Doctor Cox's unexpected words of trust and friendship, the frustration had still been there, building in the back of his mind, stewing in his resentment. But now, now it was just...

Gone.

Not lost, as he had eventually expected it to become, as every emotion eventually became. No, not lost, because lost implied it could be found, that it was still there, in the ether of emotion that harboured some of his most volatile thoughts and memories, as well as some of the most touching. His anger wasn't lost, because it wasn't there at all, like the emotion had not only been erased from the forefront of his mind, but eradicated completely. Well and truly gone.

The strangest part—the most perturbing part—was that he knew he should be angry. He knew he had the _right_ to be angry, even. But no matter how much he thought about it, no matter how he allowed his mind to linger on how much it had hurt to hear those words tumble out of Perry's lips, the anger just wouldn't come. Instead, all he could think was how true those words were. After what he had said to the black-clad man in return—well, why _should_ Perry trust him? He'd pretty much proven him right, hadn't he? He _was_ naive. He _was_ childish. Yet even as he thought those words, marvelling at how there was absolutely no anger behind them for anybody but himself, his mind rebelled against the, urging him to remember the conversation he'd just had with Doctor Cox, and the true meaning behind what he had said.

_"Anybody who calls themselves your friend and actually means it has the obligation to trust you as you trust them..."_

So he couldn't be angry at Perry, but he couldn't be angry at himself, either? So who _could_ he be angry at? He sure as hell wasn't going to be angry at Carla, if that was what his mind was suggesting. It hadn't even occurred to him to be angry with Carla, so damning was the thought. JD wasn't even remotely frustrated with her, and couldn't be if he tried. Instead, he couldn't decide if he was worried or relieved when he thought about her part in the events that had transpired. Worried, because she'd been thrown head-first into all of this by the sounds of it, and relieved because... well, because there was a part of him that had fretted over whether or not he would be alone in this after Perry and Jack left. Sure, there was Jordan, but she had never been well known for her emotional stability. He knew she felt, because nobody could fake the look of despair that had flooded her features when she talked about the cursed gift she had been given, but she had never been adept in sharing those emotions, and certainly not with him. Carla being a part of this now was tragic, but if they could work through the tragedy together—create something good out of it, even—he couldn't help but think that maybe all of this would be worth something, that the emotional turmoil he was going through now would help to build on his relationship with her, with the trust between them.

Carla was the only one he was sure of. Carla was the only one he _could_ be sure of.

As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't be sure about Perry. Everybody talked about the grand friendship they seemed to have where he came from, how close they were to one another and the mutual respect they shared, but the idea still seemed too surreal for JD. It was a pleasant thought, that maybe one day in the future he would be the one Perry came to with his secrets, the one person he immediately sought out when he needed advice, but what would that cost? Would it cost the end of the world as he knew it? Would it cost the deaths of hundreds, possibly thousands of men, women and children? Would he have to fight till his dying breath for it? Would Perry have to lose his family, his _dignity_ for it? Would the future have to be drained of any and all happiness, any and all life, promise and potential, before Percival Cox could look at Jonathan Dorian with honest-to-god affection?

He had a sinking feeling that the answer to that question was yes, and JD wasn't sure if he could live with that.

He couldn't be sure about Doctor Cox either. Despite his advice and the way the two of them had slowly but surely gravitated towards one another throughout the years (though he suspected that the older man would rather jump off a building than admit to it), he'd never actually called JD his friend. Besides, as far as JD knew, Doctor Cox had absolutely no knowledge of what was going on, suspicions aside. For all he knew, the auburn-haired doctor would probably start to think he was fooling around with Jordan _and_ Carla now, rather than the truth. Because anything—_anything_—was more believable than the truth.

No, the only one he was sure about was Carla, and even then that thought was littered with doubt. But it was littered with a lot of other emotions too, emotions that seemed to fill in the blanks where his anger towards her would have been if he'd had it, which he wouldn't have even if he had somehow deluded himself into thinking that it was justified. After all, it wasn't Carla's fault that she'd stumbled into this; that Perry had chosen her to tell. It wasn't anybody's fault, really, except maybe the Collective, but JD couldn't even consider thinking about them at the moment.

Rather, his mind was thinking about the many different parts of him that felt different things about Carla's sudden involvement in this whole ordeal. Part of him—the part that had been dreading the talk he had planned for the two of them to have about favours that couldn't be explained and that weren't exactly mutually beneficial—was sighing in relief that she knew, and how easier this made things for him from now on. Another part of him, an entirely different part, realised what this meant for Perry. While he was crushed that the older man didn't seem to believe he was trustworthy enough to let him in on his most esteemed thoughts, he was glad he would at least have _somebody_ to confide in. Carla was a great person, and an even greater friend, and he was truly happy for the both of them that they had found each other, that they both had an ally in all of this...

Regardless of his jealousy, or any of the other number of petty emotions he could feel crawling beneath his skin, he knew she was the best—if only—person qualified to help him. Now, her mission would be two-fold, considering how he needed her not only to help him with the plan itself, but also to help convince Perry it was a good idea in the first place. As much as it pained him to admit it, since agreeing to this in any way, shape or form would inevitably deepen her involvement in this nightmare, JD needed Carla now more than ever. He felt slightly moronic, considering the fact that it had completely slipped his mind to ask her about the plan. He had been so caught up in the whirlwind of emotion that followed his and Perry's argument that he hadn't been able to spare a single thought to the plan, to the importance of finding the first carrier, and the part he needed her to play in its development.

Now, it was all he was able to think about. How could he have been so _stupid?_ How could he have forgotten what he was doing there, especially when flinging insults into the face of the one man who could truly make it happen, whose support he needed like a crutch just to get through each passing day? JD sighed inwardly. First things first—he needed to find Carla. Once he'd found her, once he'd asked her if she was willing to help, then and _only_ then, would he allow himself to think about what he should do with Perry. If he even thought about it now, JD was afraid that he'd never be able to pull himself away from the recesses of his own mind.

He never did have to confront that fear, because in the next moment—as if lifting his thoughts directly from his mind into her own, Carla's voice echoed across the parking lot.

"_JD_?"

The dark-haired doctor turned his head to see her standing at the top of the stairs, which she started pacing down with short, fast strides. She was wearing her magenta scrubs, the ones that were a few sizes bigger than her normal ones, and the only ones that seemed to successfully cover the baby bump protruding from her stomach. JD smiled at the sight, thinking (and not for the first time) that pregnancy really made the beauty in Carla's face stand out, even if the imbalanced hormones made her less than a pleasure to deal with when she was angry. He'd always thought Carla was beautiful, but silently, due to the fact that she was very much in love with his best friend, and Turk with her. JD would rather stab a knife in his own gut than interrupt the happiness he saw on both their faces when they were in a room together, and it was especially during those times, where the smile would simply light her face up from the inside, setting her warm, brown eyes aglow, that JD was taken by her in a way he had rarely felt for anybody he'd ever met.

The awe he felt around her, he knew, wasn't romantic in the least. It wasn't anything like the way he felt sometimes when Elliot looked up at him through the curtain of her hair, the sheer lightness of the stands making her eyes look such a deep, amazing shade of _blue_ in comparison. It was nothing like that. Instead, it was the welcoming, affectionate wonder that he imagined a child experienced when they looked at their carer—a safety, a warmth, something... indefinable.

Her feet hit the last step, and the spell she'd cast on JD's mind was broken. The smile didn't leave nearly as quickly, though.

Carla's brow furrowed with concern as she approached him. She looked only seconds away from putting her hands on her hips, though JD had no idea why, until she asked him: "What are you standing in the middle of the parking lot for?"

_Oh. _"Just... lost in thought, I guess."

Carla raised her eyebrows, a single corner of her mouth betraying the rest and tilting upwards despite itself. Then she shook her head, black curls falling into her dark eyes before she brushed them away, reaching for his arm. "You really _will_ become a deer frozen in the headlights if you keep doing that, Bambi," she said strictly, but the amusement that played on her lips had twisted into a full-blown smile by then

"Don't worry," she said, proudly, her smile growing wider. "Carla will take care of you."

For a moment he couldn't quite place where he'd heard those words before, but then he remembered his tentative—if somewhat painful—first months as an intern, back when he was scared senseless by anything and everything in his path. Support like Carla's had been a lifeline to him and, as he looked ahead to where the road had taken them, he was in no way ashamed of having asked for it. Both he and Carla had grown since those early years, in differing and numerous ways, but what was strikingly peculiar was how their situation remained _exactly_ the same. Hearing those words pass Carla's lips relaxed a tense line in his shoulders that JD wasn't even aware of having, and he couldn't help but follow as she took his arm, directing him away from the open grounds and towards her car with a steady hand.

As they walked, JD spared a brief thought for Jordan's BMW parked on the other side of the lot, but figured he'd be back at the hospital again soon enough. If the plan was ever going to come to fruition in any way, shape or form, then he had to be—_they_ had to be. He glanced down at the petite nurse pulling him along and smiled, the truth slowly dawning on him as they crossed the lot. _Carla's part of this now, too_. _From now on, we're in this together..._

JD's next thought made his smile widen.

_As if she'd have it any other way._

It was on that thought that JD allowed himself to be tucked away into the passenger seat of Carla's tiny car, relaxing for the first time in weeks as they peeled out of the lot and down the street. In under less than a minute, Sacred Heart became just another nondescript building in the distance, and JD watched on with idle curiosity as it grew smaller and smaller the further they ventured from it.

Then it happened.

He had just turned to face Carla, lips burning with questions, when he blinked and the world was bathed in red. The interior of the car, the road, the oncoming traffic, the blue sky... _everything._ For a long and confusing moment, JD saw nothing but red. Then he blinked again, and the red was gone. Tentatively, he shrugged it off as one of the more weirder things he'd experienced today, since there was no way he could get worried about every single little thing that was happening at the moment—he suspected he'd never get out of bed in the morning if that were the case. JD turned his head back to face the front of the car as it rolled to a stop at a red light, questions forgotten.

Then it was Carla, it seemed, who had something to say to him. Her hands were still poised on the wheel, waiting for the all clear, but she had obviously craned her head towards him to speak. Instead of the light traffic chatter he'd expected, however, JD's ears were assaulted by a horrified scream. In the nanoseconds he had before he met her eyes, as his body turned, JD's mind raced through every conceivable possibility for her distress, each one as worrying as the last. _Had she just seen a random knifing in the alleyway of the block in front of them?_ _Was she feeling suddenly and acutely sick? Was the baby coming early? Was she feeling suddenly and acutely sick _and_ the baby was coming early? _

When his mind caught up with his body, JD was completely taken aback to see that Carla's eyes were wide and terrified, her face reaching a whole new level of pale as she stared—

Directly at _him?_

JD's eyebrows furrowed, but before he managed to open his mouth to ask her what could possibly be that alarming about his face, the light's bulb flashed green and Carla hit the accelerator. The few hundred meters that passed after that, before she indicated left and parked, felt like a small eternity. When the car finally came to a complete and total standstill, JD's patience finally snapped, having already been stretched taunt with concern: "_What?"_

Her voice, when she spoke, wavered slightly. That, somehow, conveyed the seriousness of the situation more than her widened eyes ever could, especially when she said: "Your eyes, JD—_look at your eyes_!"

Flicking down the sun visor above the front window, JD looked.

His heart sank at the sight of the blood. Two, small streams of red meandered their way slowly down his face, the crimson colour contrasting dangerously with the ashen white of his skin. Despite the overwhelming evidence, it still took him reaching up to his face with a softly shaking hand, brushing his fingertips across his cheek, and having it come back red and sticky for the reality to finally sink in. The defeat must have shown on his face, because Carla gripped his shoulders tightly in her hands and shook him, unrelenting, her panicked eyes staring into his imploringly. "_What is it,_ JD? What's wrong?"

He knew what was wrong. He'd known it the moment he'd seen his reflection. All the other signs had fallen into place, corroborating his theory—the blood, the lack of colour in his face, the slight tremor in his hands... the symptoms had started to show themselves, which meant it had begun. The end—_his end_—had begun. Now more than ever, JD was aware of his biological clock ticking forever downwards in the back of his brain like a time-bomb armed to explode as its red numbers grew closer and closer to detonation time. A cold feeling in his gut, which he'd written off as the stone cold fear that was making his stomach do somersaults, suddenly grew to encompass his lower body. Then, as if somebody were flicking switches on a large box that said _'symptoms'_, JD's hands began to shake. Then his shoulders. Then his torso. Then his entire body.

Gasping for breath, which Doctor Diagnosis told him had more to do with shock than it did the Juvenile virus, JD fished around for his cell phone. His movements began to grow frantic as he felt the haze of darkness approaching, and when he finally found it, he pulled it out and all but threw it in Carla's direction. Before the darkness engulfed him whole, JD wheezed out two words—the only two words he could possibly think of that might help her:

"_C-call Jordan_..."

_Don't bury me, faceless enemy,  
__I'm so sorry,  
__Is this the way it's got to be?  
__Dear agony._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II:** I wrote until my hands fell off to finish this chapter in time, then wrote some more for good measure. Regardless of the fact that I can no longer feel my fingers, I'm so glad to finally be back on track with this story—I've missed it, and all of you, like crazy. A special thanks to everybody that left a review for last chapter, and those amazing few who took the time to PM me about this story. Nothing I can say does justice to your kind words, and I can only hope that these new chapters will help make up for the time and effort you've taken to read and comment on this story. JD fought tooth and nail against me for that last scene, and I think I literally rewrote it at least twenty times before he finally decided he was happy with this. The things I do for these characters...

As a four-month hiatus will do to you, I am indeed rusty with the characters of the show and this story—so if you notice any inconsistencies in the anything: the characters, the facts or even the spelling, grammar or punctuation, please feel free to let me know. As always, any and all comments and criticisms are welcome, but just having have read this is enough to give you my eternal thanks.

Until next time, (Which will definitely be sooner than the last!)

- _Exangeline_


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